


Polaris (The Harry/Draco Remix)

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternative Sexuality, Crossover, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Professors, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's face looked grimmer than Harry had seen it in a long time, maybe since the war. “Dark wizards… we ran those out quite a while ago. But magic has never been the safe picture the Ministry likes to paint, and one of the largest defenses against that darkness has a gaping wound next to a place that’s a siren song for things on the hunt for blood. I’d set traps, as many as you can, the sort that the wilder sorts of magic won’t have much effect on. Plants. Creatures. Make bargains, if you have to.” She paused. “Harry, I would not send my children here right now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaris (The Harry/Draco Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Polaris](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776178) by [setissma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma). 



> _Just before our love got lost,_   
>  _You said, "I am as constant as a northern star,"_   
>  _And I said, "Constantly in the darkness, where's that at?_   
>  _If you want me I'll be in the bar."_
> 
> _I remember that time you told me,_   
>  _You said, "Love is touching souls,"_   
>  _Surely you touched mine_   
>  _Because part of you pours out of me_   
>  _In these lines from time to time._
> 
> \- Joni Mitchell, "A Case of You"  
>   
>  **[Authors notes and introduction are here.](http://setissma.livejournal.com/859069.html)**  
> 

The Hogwarts contract was seventeen hand-written pages long, with numerous sub-clauses and conditions. Harry signed it almost without thinking, then nicked his finger with a dull kitchen knife and squeezed until there was enough blood to touch underneath his signature. The writing glowed brightly for a moment then faded entirely, leaving a perfectly blank sheet of parchment. A moment later, a letter appeared in front of him in a formal black envelope. There was a single, small card within, which read simply, “Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” in McGonagall’s precise, slanted cursive. A moment later, everything disappeared, replaced by a tidy list of required materials, three recommendations for tailors who would bill Hogwarts directly for formal robes, and the title of a portrait, along with a pointed recommendation that Mr. Potter familiarize himself with “Portraiture in Hogwarts: A Reference and Compilation,” copy on reserve at Flourish and Blotts.

“And to think, they say you can’t go home again,” Anathaxia said, dryly.

“Shut up,” Harry replied, absently.

“What, we’re taking this because we like the life-binding blood magic?” she taunted, flashing fangs.

Harry held out a hand, letting her climb up to his shoulder, wrapping around his neck. “We’re taking this because it’s better than the alternative,” he said, firmly, and went to find the directory to look up the first tailor’s address.

Contrary to popular opinion, the Hogwarts Express ran three times per week, although every time it pulled into a town or hamlet, Harry was reminded of the fact that “Express” only applied a few days a year. The train seemed different somehow, shabbier, with smudges on the compartment doors and chewing gum stuck underneath the seats.

“You can’t expect that level of maintenance all year,” Thaxia said, primly, and waited for Harry to open a compartment before she leapt up the footholds near the doorway to the shelving near the top of the compartment, with portholes.

It was well past dusk by the time the train pulled into the station. Harry levitated his trunks behind him, resisting the urge to heave a sigh at the lack of carriages. He _had_ taken the option of coming well ahead of the students, he reminded himself, and unwrapped his broomstick, making sure his things were in order before binding everything together and starting up the path.

It smelled like the beginnings of autumn in Scotland, the omnipresent dark smell of the forest blending with chimney smoke from Hogsmeade. The castle rose out of the fog in front of them, wrapped in the shadowy curtain of the lake. The gates swung open beneath them, larger than Harry had remembered, and he saw the wards snaking up them and along the wall, glimmering to let them through and then fading back into nothingness, or perhaps – something quiet and sleeping, the sort of power Harry knew no one would want to wake.

The front doors did not swing open so easily, but they cracked with a push, and Thaxia went bounding ahead, disappearing into the flickering candlelight.

Harry found her scolding a portrait daemon a moment later, a hound by the looks of it, and a moment later its human darted back into the frame. “Dreadfully sorry,” he said, almost taller than Harry. “We weren’t told to expect anyone tonight.”

“Oughtn’t the train schedule tell you the requisite information?” Thaxia demanded, tail going stiff. Harry bit back a sigh as he saw the hound’s hackles rise.

“She’s particular about these things,” he said, by way of apology. The steward shrugged then straightened, as if he was used to it. He consulted a book in the portrait, looking at Harry’s trunks.

“Shall we direct you to your rooms, Professor Potter, or would you prefer to dine first?”

“ _Dinner_ ,” Harry said, firmly, before Thaxia could interject. “My rooms are behind ‘The Lady in The Moonlit Garden.’”

Thaxia’s flattened ears told him that he wasn’t imagining the steward’s look of surprise, but before he could comment, the man bowed. “We shall ensure your belongings are delivered with haste. I believe the main course tonight to be roast boar.” 

“Thanks,” said Harry, watching as his trunks disappeared down a corridor, and headed toward the Great Hall.

The long tables were empty, a few being carefully polished, and the dais Harry was used to was instead a round table with plush chairs set around it. A woman was sitting at it alone, paging through a book. Her hair was pinned at the nape by her wand, and her dark green robes were perfectly tailored in the latest Diagon Alley fashion. A Siamese cat sat at her elbow, delicately grooming gravy off its whiskers. The food smelled so good that Harry was willing to risk the encounter. No one could be in a particularly bad mood with that in front of them, even a Slytherin.

“Parkinson,” he said, sliding in beside her, which was when he noticed a shimmering form next to her, a petite blonde woman he didn’t recognize covered in a cloaking charm.

“Malfoy, actually,” she said, barely glancing up. “And you needn’t bother, she’s reading the tea. If we’re unlucky, she’ll emerge before dessert, but you never know, it’s been known to take hours.”

When Parkinson looked up a second time, meeting his gaze evenly, he realized the low purr wasn’t coming from the cat at all, but from a very, very large – something or another, hidden in the black underneath the table. All he could see was a large, yellow pair of eyes.

“You’re, ah, married?” Harry managed, ignoring Thaxia’s nip to his ankle as he took a seat.

“Nothing so blasé,” Parkinson said, coolly, then looked him over. “So I suppose the rumors are true, then. You turned down Chief Auror for –“ The corner of her mouth pulled up. “Teaching Care of Magical Creatures to eleven year olds. Care to explain _that_ decision?”

“It’s complicated,” Harry muttered into his plate, which was starting to fill itself.

“I really don’t remember her being such a sanctimonious bitch in school,” Thaxia said, glaring. “In fact, I really don’t remember her at all. But then again, I suppose you’d have to be one, to marry _Malfoy_.”

The purr beneath the table took on a distinctly different tenor, sliding into a growl, and Harry was starting to wonder what on earth had possessed him not to order food in his rooms when there were footsteps on the stairs to the dais.

“There was a rather limited supply of female Weasleys,” a male voice said from the doorway. “I rather think Potter cornered the market. It’s rather tragic for Pansy that I was forced to look elsewhere, but, well, here we are.”

“Hello, darling,” Parkinson said, and Draco Malfoy leaned over the table to brush a kiss against her temple.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, then tried not to jump at the sudden, sheer size of the silent wolf padding up the steps behind him.

It had been years – years Harry had spent happily living his life with Malfoy occupying absolutely no portion of his daily life whatsoever - but somewhere along the line, Draco Malfoy had grown from a somewhat scrawny seventeen year old into a man, and his daemon… well, she nearly cleared the height of the table. She was different than he remembered in school, not a petty attack dog but a play of light and shadows, with both savagery and grace in the clear lines of her face. He’d never wondered _why a wolf_ , but somehow -

“You’re staring, Harry,” Thaxia said, irritably.

“He ought to,” Lethe said, low and smoky, voice nothing like Harry remembered, either. He nearly put a hand out to touch her enormous skull before he swallowed quickly and caught himself, reaching for the salt instead.

He’d hated Draco Malfoy, _hated_ him, but Harry had learned over the years that there were far worse things than schoolboy grudges. You couldn’t choose your parents. As a child, Draco had favored his father, but Harry could see the Black in him now, Narcissa’s cool grey eyes and Sirius’ stubborn mouth, the sharp cheek bones and pale skin that spoke of power and wealth. His hair was cut short, still blonde, but he’d grown, too. Harry’s sole consolation was that he was probably far too tall to be an adequate Seeker, these days.

“You’re _staring_ ,” Thaxia repeated, and Harry ducked his head.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

“On what,” Draco said. “The position? You’re a bit late, Potter, I’ve been here for four years. Then again, I don’t suppose the aurors pay all that much attention to anything that’s not trying to eat London.” He buttered a roll.

“Um,” Harry said. “Your marriage?”

“Oh, that,” Malfoy said. “We’re contracted. Since after the war.” 

“Engagement?” Harry tried, suddenly feeling as if he was underwater in a strange, horrifying nightmare.

“Contract,” Parkinson said, with a sigh. “You may congratulate us on our binding, Potter. I can’t suppose we ought to expect a half-blood to know these things.”

“ _Half-blood_ -“ Thaxia growled, putting her front paws on the table, and Lethe bared a single tooth, looking at her sideways. Then Harry felt his chair shoved out of the way and found himself being stared down by a large, black panther.

“It’s all right,” he said, finally, at the same moment Parkinson sighed, “Oh, _fine_ , Kit.”

“Kitcaron, Anathaxia,” Malfoy said. “I highly doubt you’ll enjoy her company, she’s a -”

“Bitch?” Thaxia supplied, still bristling.

“Fisher,” Draco finished, innocently. “Not quite the same degree of carnivore.”

The panther stared at Harry a moment longer before moving so close that he was nearly touching noses with Thaxia, who bared her teeth, fur standing on end.

There was a low rumble, and Malfoy laughed, pouring himself a cup of tea. It had been a long time since Harry had been around daemons who didn’t speak aloud. It was old magic, magic that had gone out of fashion in London long before he’d even been born, but it somehow didn’t surprise him to find it here.

“I hear you’ve gone off the deep end,” Malfoy said, while Thaxia turned, pointedly ignoring him to groom her tail. “Do try to keep any students from being savaged by hippogriffs.”

“Look,” Harry began, then realized from Lethe’s loose body language and Thaxia’s focus on her furious grooming that it probably wasn’t meant as a slight.

“I’ve no intention of tackling those until next term, at _least_ ,” he said, with a sigh. Malfoy laughed.

“She’s the one with the lofty Defense position,” he said. “I’m teaching the eleven year olds not to set off the shrieking stonecrop.” 

Harry paused, then bit back a laugh. “Herbology?” he said. “You?”

“Care of Magical Creatures?” Malfoy responded, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

“Something different,” Harry said, finally.

“More interesting than you’d think,” Malfoy responded.

Parkinson sighed. “Lovely,” she said. “If you’ve finished measuring your wands, Draco, this NEWT class proposal is rubbish, and I’ve no idea how to fix it. Her foundational charm work is abysmal. How on earth she managed an ‘Outstanding,’ I’ll never know.”

“Oh, no,” Malfoy said. “You’re not getting me anywhere near charms. Not even for your precious seventh years.”

Harry suddenly found five sets of curious eyes on him. “I assure you, you really don’t want my help.”

Parkinson literally threw her hands in the air, a gesture Harry had thought was reserved for figurative hysterical women in romance novels. “That’s the entire problem, I’ve no idea why she’s set the foundation this way,” she said. Harry finally sighed, taking a bite of potatoes. They spent the next few minutes in silence, with Parkinson sneaking the occasional glance at him.

“Give it here,” he said, and Parkinson slid the scroll across the table to him, looking smug.

“That’s odd,” he said, after a moment, then frowned, ignoring the fact that Thaxia was poaching the majority of his boar. “What’s she been reading, Thelonius Merrick?”

Parkinson snorted. “That’s the most logical explanation I’ve heard from anyone so far, but no, look at the second section, that’s straight out of –“

“Miyaki,” Harry said, suddenly a bit fascinated. “They’re utterly incompatible works, you couldn’t –“

“I don’t think she did,” Parkinson said. “At least not intentionally. I mean, if you’d just –“

“Christ, academics,” Draco interrupted, mildly. “You sound like Granger.”

“Granger’s doing quite well for herself,” Parkinson said, mildly. “I nearly owled over this.”

“Well, fortune has delivered Potter to your table instead,” Malfoy said. “I’m off to check the singed salvia, it ought to be going to flame tonight.” He took a final bite of custard. “Very practical, salvia.”

“Practicality is for gardeners and Hufflepuffs,” Parkinson said, rolling her eyes.

Draco snorted. “I might fall into the first category.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, waving a hand. “Potter, look here.”

Draco lifted a hand as he left, Lethe soft behind him, but Parkinson’s head was already bent over the scroll.

“Were you always so –“ Harry said, searching for a word. _Noticeable_ came to mind.

“No one cares about _that_ , Potter,” she said. “Do you think if she tried using cardinal principles instead of arithmancy, this might be feasible?”

“No, it’s going to come down like a ton of bricks and take out half the castle with it, you can’t ward like that,” Harry said, then considered. “But there’s an article on _Argiope stabilimentum_ in the Journal of Magical Creatures, I think last fall’s print edition, really brilliant –“

“ _Spell-weavers_ ,” Parkinson breathed, then pulled a quill out of her sleeve and started scribbling notes in the margins. “If you fed them the bound charms, then set the web as the focus….”

“It’s no use for wards, but it would be a very interesting –“

“Trap,” they said, simultaneously, and the sudden grin on Parkinson’s face made him miss Hermione fiercely.

“Can you get them?” she demanded. “The spiders, I mean.” 

Harry considered. “A few weeks, if I call in a favor. And if you want to keep them in the castle, you’d better build them the proper habitat, they’re sensitive to drafts. And there’s a bitterant spell to add to the wards, otherwise they’ll eat your wards and spin any magic they can get their hands on.”

“Yes, of course,” Parkinson said, as if he were a complete idiot, tucking a stray piece of hair back behind her face, and if Harry had been so inclined, he’d have thought he’d caught a glimmer of what Ron saw in Hermione.

“You’ve already borrowed _that_ trouble,” Thaxia said, curled between Kitcaron’s massive paws, and Harry tried not to choke on his dessert. “Let’s not go there again.”

“Not hardly,” he said, firmly.

“You’ll owl me the article?” Parkinson said, eyeing his plate as the custard appeared. “And a book on care and keeping?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Though I suppose you could just stop by the cottage, once I’ve cleared it out. My books will be along on the train with the students.”

She glanced at him, a little strangely. “I don’t suppose you’ve sat down with McGonagall yet, have you?”

“Not as such,” Harry said. “I, er –“ He glanced at his plate. “Gather I was something of a last minute hire.”

“I don’t think anyone thought you’d consent to the job,” Parkinson said, looking as if she was trying to stifle a laugh. “Hogwarts isn’t quite the same these days.”

“What?” Harry said. She swiped his custard, standing up and stepping aside as her daemon rose to his feet.

“No point in spoiling the surprise,” she said. “Ta, Potter. I’ll look forward to the spiders. And don’t mind her.“ She gestured to the woman that Harry had all but forgotten about. “Lisse. Divination. Doesn’t get out much.”

“She’s a bit odd, for a Slytherin,” Thaxia remarked, from under the table. “I didn’t hate her.”

“My God,” Harry said, dryly. “An entire Slytherin you don’t despise? We’ll have to owl Hermione straight away, there might be something wrong with us.”

“ _I_ wasn’t thinking about her -“ Thaxia began, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“’I’ve already borrowed that trouble,’” he mimicked. “We’re not seventeen.”

Thaxia jumped for his shoulders. “She took your dessert.”

“I’m sure the elves will send another portion your way.”

Something like two hours later, Harry was very certain that the house elves would not be sending anything custard related to Thaxia, given that he still had no idea where he was, the Marauder’s Map and six other advanced direction finding spells had left them somewhere _up_ two staircases in what he was reasonably certain was the dungeons, and every portrait he’d asked had directed him to entirely different corners of the castle. The Fat Lady was apparently in Denmark for magical restoration, so the Gryffindor common room was being guarded by a particularly recalcitrant sailor, and Slytherin’s had a very scantily clad woman with a fortunately rather large cobra daemon. “You’re not a student,” she’d purred, “but I might let you in, if you ask _particularly_ nicely.” Harry had found another hallway in a hurry.

“Really, the book didn’t give _any_ instructions?” Thaxia asked, snippily, for what had to be the thirtieth time.

“McGonagall said she had more papers for me when we met,” Harry gritted out. “Perhaps she’s gone for the evening. Or, I don’t know, _uninterested_.”

“It can’t be invisible.”

“With our luck, it only appears during the waxing crescent moon on irregular Tuesdays,” Harry said, with a sigh.

“I’d ask what an irregular Tuesday is, but I’m fairly certain I don’t want to know,” a familiar voice said, and Malfoy rounded the corner, holding an enormous planter of – well. Fire. When Harry looked more closely, he realized they were flowers, and that at least a few of them were starting to sputter out.

“Singed salvia?” he hazarded.

“As if it would be something else,” Malfoy said. “Though the burning belladona is due to come in next week. You wouldn’t confuse _those_ two, though.”

“What are you doing in the dungeon corridor?” Lethe said to Thaxia, polite enough that Thaxia didn’t even start in, creeping closer until the wolf bent to touch noses, somewhat to Harry’s surprise.

“My rooms are behind a portrait that I’m fairly certain doesn’t exist,” Harry said, with a sigh. “And _yes_ , I checked the book the Headmistress recommended.”

“Well, that was useless, it doesn’t have any maps, you’ll have wanted Burbot’s second edition,” Malfoy said, dryly. “Granger ought to have told you.”

“Hermione doesn’t know we’re here,” Thaxia said, still standing on her toes.

Harry rubbed his forehead. “I don’t suppose you know anything about a moonlit garden.”

“Really?” Malfoy said, and Harry was about to tell him that it was none of his business when he continued, “They’ve put you _there_?”

“Intriguing,” Lethe murmured, bending her head even further. “Would you like a ride?”

Harry blinked as Thaxia only hesitated for a moment before jumping between her shoulder blades.

“I’ve no idea,” Harry admitted, “but all I’d like is a bath and a bed, and at this rate, we’re going to have to sleep in the hospital wing.”

“I’m going there once these burn out,” Malfoy said, “but I suspect you’d rather your own rooms.”

“Please,” Harry said, still trying not to look askance at his daemon, whose front paws were propped on Lethe’s enormous head.

Malfoy lead him down a corridor and over, down at least three more sets of staircases, and took a torch out of a wall socket, lighting others as he went down the hall. “There’s a magical dead zone,” he explained. “Nothing works here. This is a rather old part of the castle. Built back when Slytherin thought the others might turn on him, I suppose.”

“Slytherin?” Harry said, dubiously, and Malfoy laughed.

“He had rather a lot of chambers, so don't worry, I don’t expect you’ll be sleeping in his bed.”

“Exploring Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets,” Thaxia said, cheerful for once, and Harry sighed as Malfoy bit down on a barking laugh.

“Really?” he said. “I’ve never much gotten the impression you had a sense of humor.”

“ _Anathaxia_ ,” Harry said, before she could even start, but she only licked one paw, eyeing him. He supposed the two of them were used to screaming insults at one another.

“I was only going to say, you’ve barely any impression of me at all these days, don’t you think?”

“I suppose burying the hatchet after this long would be a bit anticlimactic,” Malfoy mused. “Potter?” 

“We did work well as mortal enemies,” Harry replied, then paused, a little uncomfortable with the levity. “Though given the war –“

“They’ll want proof,” Lethe said, flatly, as they continued further down.

“Yes, well, in due course.”

“Draco,” she murmured, eyes suddenly flashing gold in the reflection of the fire flowers. “Remember what your father said.” 

Draco paused, long enough that Harry was tempted to interject that any and all relationships could be determined in the morning, so long as his bed didn’t contain any Dark Wizards, but Draco finally set the box down, crouching, and unbuttoned his cuff, jerking his sleeve up. “I never took the mark, Potter, and I suspect you’ll find that intolerance isn’t particularly savored under this particular Headmistress.” 

“If that’s a glamor, it’s a very good one, if there’s no magic here,” Thaxia said, inching closer down Lethe’s head, and Lethe huffed a sigh.

“Clever tree fox,” she said, almost as if she approved, and Malfoy gritted his teeth, pulling out a scalpel. 

“That really isn’t –“ Harry began, but Malfoy nicked the base of his thumb, rubbing blood over his inner forearm. He held his arm up in the torchlight, and what Harry initially mistook for a snake, he recognized a moment later as a vine, flowers opening sleepily and tilting toward the light. The tattoo was made up of perfect, tiny sigils and old calligraphy, a script older than Harry (or, he suspected, even Hermione) would have been able to read, so dense they looked like pure ink. The vine was black, but the flowers drew in the blood, turning a deep, dark red in the light.

“Blood and magical light,” Draco said. “Though don’t think _Lumos_ will cut it. Are you satisfied?”

Harry realized after a moment that the remark was directed not at him, but at Lethe.

“Perhaps the binding,” Lethe said.

“ _That_ ,” Draco said, “is none of their business.”

“What is it?” Harry said, finally. “Ah… the tattoo.”

Draco’s laugh was almost surprised, then he shook his head. “Look before you leap, the unofficial Gryffindor motto,” he said. “It means that I belong here.”

“No, I mean, I recognize the flower but I can’t remember what it’s called,” Harry said, awkwardly. He really wasn’t sure about any Slytherin tattoos.

“Blood lantern,” Draco said. “We’re still between moon cycles, but when it’s new, the petals pull together and float.” He cleared his throat. “It smells like – oh, I don’t know.”

“Everything you’ve ever wanted,” Lethe said. “All the things you’ve never imagined you wanted, but you want. Ambition. Desire. The corners of his mind I’ll never step into.”

“She thinks she’s a poet,” Malfoy said. “It smells like musk. And it’s toxic as hell, so don’t go eating any if you find it, which you won’t, because it only grows one place in the forest, and I’m not telling.”

“Oh,” Thaxia said, suddenly, and leapt to bite Harry hard on the thumb.

“ _Ow_ ,” he said.

“Your arm,” she said. 

“What, am I proving I’m not marked?” Harry said, irritably. “I rather think the scar covers it.”

“Your _arm_ ,” she said, baring her teeth, and he swiped his thumb quickly, before she could bite again. 

Harry had never been particularly fond of tattoos, especially not magical ones that wandered about, and so it was a surprise to see a glimmer of _something_ in the shadows, until he held his arm down to the light of the flowers. It was a bird, wings spreading across his forearms, with perfect, exquisitely _written_ feathers, and as a drip of blood slid further downward, it twisted, flaring briefly before it burst into flame. 

“A phoenix,” Lethe remarked. “Rather fitting.”

“That’s not mine,” Harry said, finally. “I didn’t –“

“Oh, but you did,” Draco said. “You signed in blood, didn’t you? You’re hers, now. After the war, McGonagall stopped appointing professors and started putting all the candidates in the Sorting Hat.” He considered. “She said once that sometimes things came back that she wasn’t expecting. I don’t suppose you were on the applicant list.”

“No,” Harry said, slowly.

“Like I said,” Draco said. “You’re hers. You belong to the castle.”

Harry swallowed, and Thaxia snorted. “I suppose they’re thematic,” she said. “What’s the female Malfoy’s?”

“You can ask if she’s interested in showing it,” Draco said. “But don’t bank on it. I’ve only seen it once.”

“I will,” Thaxia said, before Harry could stop her, and leapt into the darkness down the corridor.

“Parkinson said things were different,” Harry said, finally. “D’you know what she meant?”

“I’d be lying if I said yes, and I’d be lying if I said no,” Malfoy replied. “But it’s late, and you’ll see at least some of what I think she means in the morning.”

Harry felt the familiar tug that meant Thaxia was drawing close to the end of their range and followed it, finding her examining a large portrait of closed water lilies and irises.

“Where’s –“ he began, and then caught a glimpse of razor sharp teeth and scales, fins camouflaged in the stems.

“She’s very beautiful under the full moon,” Draco said, mildly. “She’s quite good at singing the Gryffindor sailor away from his post.”

“A siren,” Harry said, fascinated.

“Not particularly ladylike, most of the month,” Draco said. “It’s a rather misleading title, if you ask me.”

“No, she’s beautiful,” Harry said, letting go of the strange feeling at exploring a part of Hogwarts he’d never seen before, following around _Draco Malfoy_.

“You’ll be able to cast in your chambers,” Draco said. “If you double back this corridor, we’re on the right. Look for the centaur.”

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” Harry said, lifting his hand to the portrait, and then turned, wondering whether what he was about to say was a terrible idea. “Pax, I suppose?” 

Malfoy’s face changed for a moment, and Harry could see Lethe there when he laughed. “Now that you’ve seen my distinct lack of Dark Mark?”

“Now that you’ve failed to murder me in the dungeons,” Harry said, dryly. “On multiple occasions.”

“Pax, then,” Malfoy said. “Though you might want to get inside quickly. I might change my mind.”

Harry had always suspected the Slytherins would be hiding the best quarters in the castle, and while he had no idea why McGonagall had chosen to put him _here_ of all places, he had to admit that his suspicions had been correct. As soon as he and Thaxia had stepped across the threshold, the rooms had begun rearranging themselves. Titles blinked in and out on the bookshelves, and what had previously been a series of rather large benches turned into a twisting tree with perches to surround the picture window, pitch black with the occasional dull flash of fae light. Harry realized they had to be far beneath the lake. A fire lit itself in the hearth as the woodened floors warmed to a dark reddish oak, and the bed looked like the most comfortable thing Harry had seen in years. His trunks had been unpacked in a deep closet and onto an overly large desk beneath the window, his personal books stacked primly on the nightstand.

“Custard!” exclaimed Thaxia, at the exact moment Harry realized he heard running water and felt steam, and if he had to be in the dungeons – well, the dungeons and Slytherins alike seemed more welcoming than expected.

The next morning, he was half way through a plate piled high with eggs and sausage, when a note appeared next to his plate.

“Ah, the summons,” Thaxia said, wolfing down a sausage. Harry could hardly argue with her wording, since McGonagall had requested his presence in her office “at his earliest convenience.”

Harry finished his cup of tea and headed toward the headmaster’s office, only to find himself tugged in a different direction, up an adjacent stairwell. The door was the same, of course, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore’s office had been at least two flights down. And the portrait, of course, was subject to the selection of the current Headmistress. Harry found himself being stared down at by a woman astride a horse, balancing an enormous falcon on her forearm.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what the password is,” he said, apologetically.

“Not to worry, we’ve been expecting you,” she said. “And for this week, it’s ‘golden snidget,’ though don’t think that’s on your account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said, with a smile. She swung open to reveal a flight of stairs.

McGonagall’s office was nothing like Dumbledore’s, with the possible exception of thousands of books lining the walls. Where Dumbledore had liked trinkets, McGonagall’s tasted seemed spartan in comparison, though it was clear that the furniture was perfectly crafted and the mantle above the large fireplace was lined with photographs – one, Harry was surprised to notice, was of him, Ron and Hermione, laughing over a deck of cards in the Gryffindor common room. There was another of a young couple on their wedding day, probably younger than he was now, and he was startled to realize the smiling bride was McGonagall.

“Mister Potter,” she said, interrupting him, and he turned, a bit embarrassed, but she waved a hand.

“I suppose you would be curious, after all these years.”

“Please, call me Harry, Professor,” he said. Thaxia was noticeably quiet; McGonagall had always been one of the very few people she was willing to hold her tongue around, perhaps because McGonagall’s lynx was not known for being particularly verbose. 

“Only if you’ll call me Minerva, Mister Potter,” she said, and Harry had to crack a smile.

“I suppose the terms are a bit different than a decade ago,” he said, watching a pot of tea pour itself. McGonagall’s face grew contemplative.

“A little,” she agreed. “Though I’m afraid I must admit to luring you here under somewhat false pretenses, Harry.”

“I’m reasonably certain the job offer was real,” Harry said, dryly. “I’ve got a rather impressive tattoo to prove it.” 

McGonagall looked a bit startled, then laughed. “I thought you’d take some convincing on the subject of Dr. Malfoy, but perhaps I underestimated you.”

“Doctor?” Harry said, puzzled.

“Yes, her doctoral defense was certainly worth the trip to London,” McGonagall mused. “Granger was always the brightest witch of your time here, but some of us take a bit longer to come into our own. Pansy has certainly demonstrated that much.”

“Oh, no,” Harry said. “It was Draco, actually,” he said. “Well. More like Draco’s daemon.”

“Sometimes it bears repeating that they are one and the same, Harry,” McGonagall said, sounding amused. “I must admit to some sorrow at having been away last night, if Draco Malfoy was educating you on the particulars of the castle. Though I do hope that blood wasn’t drawn in a duel of some sort. I don’t tolerate that sort of animosity amongst my professors. We haven’t the time for it, and no one is here whom the castle has not chosen herself.”

“I think perhaps we’ve agreed to let bygones be bygones,” Harry said. “The war was a long time ago.”

“A decade at most,” McGonagall said. “But sometimes youthful perspectives aren’t entirely without merit. Tea? Still two sugars?”

Harry took the cup that floated across the room. “Somewhat false pretenses?”

“An answer for an answer,” McGonagall said, drawing a cover off of what Harry had thought might be a bird cage – it proved to be a large glass dome with seven or eight red envelopes floating around inside. “Would you care to explain why Ms. Granger-Weasley has been sending you howlers since approximately twelve o’clock yesterday?”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry said, then covered his mouth with his hand.

“Watch your language,” hissed Thaxia, appearing on one wing of the chair, glancing around the office as if McGonagall’s hidden daemon might appear.

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m afraid Hermione doesn’t know where I am.” 

“That would explain the addressing,” she said. “Harry Potter, Hogwarts Express, Two Kilometers North of Hampshire,” she read. “Harry Potter, One Hundred and Seventeenth Southwest Corridor, Nearest the Statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry –“ McGonagall paused as another letter appeared with a pop, crashing against the glass before falling back with the others. “Harry Potter, Headmistress’ Office, Northernmost Turret. They do get rather specific.”

“I’m wearing an anti-tracking device,” Harry said, pulling out a small bead on a chain around his neck. He laughed, without much humor. “She invented the thing, so her tracking charms can’t find a way around it.”

“Clever, if deceitful,” McGonagall said. “Though one wonders at the necessity.”

“You’ve been to London,” Harry said, finally, quietly. “Nothing’s the same, since the war. Most of the Death Eaters got taken out in the first few years, but I think there’s a nostalgia for something that’s never going to exist again. Voldemort left more behind than just a body count. I know –“ He held up a hand. “You went through it. My parents went through it. But I’m not sure it’s the same this time. And my job – well, my former job… there’s an awful lot of darkness in the world, Professor. When I was a child, it was easy enough to boil it down to one source, this unspeakable evil, but then you grow up and find out that the every day acts of ordinary witches and wizards might be worse.” He closed his eyes. “We went on a case, oh – a month ago – a witch and her children hacked to pieces in their beds, though he could have used a wand, made it fast.” He laughed, bitterly. “Do you know what the worst part is? Because they weren’t killed with Unforgiveables, it’s not Azkaban. He’ll be eligible for parole someday. Because he used a _butcher’s knife_ , and there weren’t any Muggleborn jurors.”

McGonagall’s lips became a thin line, one Harry recognized as resolve. “And Ms. Granger-Weasley?”

“Hermione sees me as the beacon of light I was to many people for many years,” Harry said, finally. “’I’ve been trying to explain that that particular darkness is long gone and that people have turned to other comforts, but she won’t have it. And I very much needed a change of scenery.”

“Well,” McGonagall said. “I’m afraid you’ve come to a place that’s unlikely to give you much rest.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m well aware of the horrors of first years. I suspect I’ll survive.”

McGonagall smiled, though it was faint. “Not that, though kindly refrain from setting them loose with anything too dangerous,” she said. “What do you know of magical architecture, Harry?”

“Just about nothing,” he admitted. “Though I’ve found my fair share of strange staircases that lead to the wrong house and cubbyholes that don’t seem to have bottoms.”

“Correct,” McGonagall said. “Some wizards, when building, like to… incorporate tricks. A sleight of hand here, a slip of magic there – your home becomes something different. It’s usually not a particularly dangerous pastime, but magic wasn’t always so neat and tidy.” McGonagall waved a hand, and a chalice appeared on her desk, glimmering behind what Harry recognized as a stasis spell. It was gold plated, with jewels the size of coins inset around the rim. He sighed.

“This is going to involve destroying a magical object, isn’t it,” he said. 

McGonagall laughed. “Quite the contrary, Harry,” she said. “This is a magical object that must never be destroyed. Only the Headmasters and Mistresses may view it, though even we will never know the location of what you’re looking at. This is Hogwarts.”

“It’s a cup,” Harry said, flatly. “A very fancy cup, but it’s still a cup.”

“A cup full of blood,” McGonagall corrected, and Harry stood to glance over the edge, trying not to gag. It was indeed filled with a dark liquid, dull and lifeless against the shimmering gems. He didn’t find it hard to believe.

“A long time ago, Salazar Slytherin thought he had built something,” McGonagall said. “He thought he had created the most magical castle in the world, a place of rock and iron, perhaps an impenetrable fortress, but the truth that he was blind to was that he hadn’t built something. He’d planted it.”

“He’d planted it,” Harry echoed, numbly, wondering slightly if McGonagall had gone off the deep end in his absence and that had been what Malfoy was warning him about, but she pushed her glasses up her nose and pinned him to the chair with her gaze.

“He planted it,” McGonagall repeated. “Hufflepuff realized, of course, and Ravenclaw came to know in the end, though I suspect her metaphorical perspective was a bit different. The point is, the castle is alive, and it has been since the first stone was drawn from the ground, because Slytherin’s magic went into the making of the thing, and as I suspect we have learned these last long years, it is very difficult to make something so large and requiring so much power without giving something of yourself.”

“So Hogwarts is a horcrux?” Harry said, flatly. “My day just keeps improving, Professor.”

“You might think of it that way,” McGonagall said. “But you must understand, it’s not a horcrux in the sense that you’ve known them. Hogwarts isn’t borrowing pieces of anyone’s soul. It’s constructed solely on magic. And our magic is a reflection of ourselves. At first, it was unbalanced, and then, through Ravenclaw’s insistence, became balanced once more. This chalice is a power source, the four founders putting themselves equally into the school. In the beginning, you might think of each brick as divided into quarters, but Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff never thought to limit their spell. Or perhaps they never meant to. One can only speculate.

“Hogwarts has become an amalgamation of the magic of every witch and wizard who has ever passed through her doors. And their mistake, or choice, became their grace, the making of her, because with so many personalities, so many types of magic with different strengths and weaknesses, she fell into harmony. Of course, sometimes a particularly strong wizard might cast a ripple in the pond, but the lake has always been smooth.”

“But,” Harry said, slowly.

“But, ten years ago, Hogwarts was severely wounded,” McGonagall said. “And although the towers have largely been rebuilt and the dead no longer line the Quidditch pitch, in the wrong parts of the castle, stone is merely stone. And the damage was hardly even. The dungeons were nearly untouched, while Ravenclaw Tower was nearly obliterated. It has left an imbalance. She can only grow so quickly, Harry, and there is only so much magic you can pull from children, particularly when the children are fewer and fewer in number each year. Most of us have forgotten the old ways, the pagan spells of blood and death and the places in the world where you might find untold power. We are not what we once were, Harry. None of us are a Salazar Slytherin or a Rowena Ravenclaw. Even at his finest, Albus Dumbledore only held so much. The castle has been fighting a very good fight, but she tires. And in her exhaustion, Potter, I am afraid things are going to get much worse before they get any better at all.”

“None of this explains why I’m here,” Harry said, finally, and McGonagall smiled.

“The dark creeps in, but it is hardly hopeless,” she said. “I suspect you may find horrors here, but I also suspect you will find what it is that you have been looking for. Professor Malfoy knows some of the oldest, purest magic there is, and he’s a far stronger wizard than anyone – perhaps myself included – ever gave him credit for, though his skills lie outside the realm of what many would consider traditional magic. Dr. Malfoy shares a bloodline, however distant, with Rowena Ravenclaw. And you –“

McGonagall smiled. “Hogwarts was not left entirely defenseless, Potter. The Sorting Hat is more than just a silly game for children. It knows what she needs. And though I didn’t believe that you would say yes, when I put in the applicants for this position, it returned your name alone. Singularly and exclusively qualified. You were a ripple in her power, Harry, and Slytherin needs balancing.”

“You do realize I was almost sorted there,” Harry said, flatly. 

“No,” McGonagall said. “Although that provides an interesting twist. Perhaps Hogwarts needs a magnet, to draw Gryffindor and Slytherin together. Or perhaps the choosing of a House means more when it’s challenging.” She shrugged. “We have far too few faculty and far too many students without even the fundamentals that growing up in a wizarding household would have afforded them. Hogwarts has kept the danger out, so far, but I fear that if we do not restore the balance, she will start to crumble. We must –“ She laughed. “As Mr. Malfoy suggested, build trellises to bridge the gaps and coax her along.”

“Christ,” Harry said. “You sound more like Dumbledore than you.”

“Headmistress’ prerogative,” McGonagall said, with a smile. “It’s good to see you home again, Harry. Now might I suggest you owl Miss Granger with your sincerest apologies. We’ll be needing her. You may tell her it was urgent and that I requested you not notify others of your plans, if you wish.” She frowned at the case. “And please do request that she stop filling my office with howlers.”

“Right,” Harry said, feeling a little relieved that McGonagall sounded much less like Trelawney. “And my class tables? And the keys to the cottage?”

“You aren’t the groundskeeper, Harry, you won’t need keys,” McGonagall said, then winced. “The cottage, however… Hogwarts has always kept the Forbidden Forest in check. But she is distracted. I suspect you would not want to teach courses there these days. But never fear, the Professors Malfoy and myself have created a wing off the greenhouse that I suspect shall be to your liking.”

“A decade, and you’ve managed to turn up two Slytherins and me, when you need fewer Slytherins and more Ravenclaws, or whichever?”

“I rarely find that arguing with the Hat offers much success, Potter,” she said. “Now come along, you’ll need to be shown the restored Potions wing. As we’re currently without an advanced instructor, yourself and Professor Malfoy will be teaching the sixth and seventh years NEWT courses.”

“Potions?” Harry managed. “I’m _awful_ at Potions.”

“Luckily for you, Mister Malfoy is quite adept,” McGonagall said. “Come along, Professor Potter. There’s work to be seen to.”

“That was interesting,” Thaxia said, when she’d heard the portrait door swing open, and Harry jumped when McGonagall’s lynx leapt from a deep shelf above her desk, landing silently on the bannister.

“Always the penchant for understatement, Anathaxia,” he said, and started down the stairs after his other half.

After lunch, Harry went to find Malfoy. It was extremely pathetic, he thought, when he was hoping that an afternoon spent with Malfoy might prove better than his morning, but seeing as how his morning had involved all _that_ with McGonagall and a horrifying trip down memory lane in the Potions dungeon, Harry thought there might be a small possibility that this _couldn’t_ be worse, even if it involved Malfoy. Malfoy had been perfectly reasonable, last night, when he wasn’t flashing about scalpels.

“It’s going to be awful,” Thaxia said, and Harry sighed.

“Most likely,” he said, but paused when he reached the greenhouses. They weren’t anything like he remembered, though he supposed there might have been more advanced buildings for the upper level students, but this was different, somehow. There was a low, stone building tucked against the castle wall, covered in ivy, and next to it a door through the wall. It looked like a perfectly charming iron gate, but when Harry glanced at it askew his eyes nearly watered with the sheer number of protective wards crawling over it. It was placed in the thickest section of the wall, a part of the wall itself, and Harry realized abruptly that he could see a path into the Forbidden Forest over the top of the gate, which was right over the wall.

The greenhouses themselves had grown together somehow, almost like a spider web, connected by tunnels, and they’d grown old, with lead paned glass and moss covering the foundations. The largest one, with stained glass and soaring roof peaks, looked nearly like a cathedral. Harry paused for a moment to offer grudging admiration to the beauty of the layout. If this was the house that Malfoy had built, Harry wasn’t quite sure what it said about him, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he disliked it.

“Awful,” Thaxia repeated, with a put-upon sigh. Harry firmly jerked open one of the wooden doors to the smallest of the green houses and heaved a sigh of relief. This was recognizable, at least, with the long benches and perfectly paired gloves, though Malfoy kept things in much better shape than Professor Sprout apparently had. Each spot at the bench had a pot full of soil, a trowel, and a small cup of seeds. “Introduction to Herbology,” was written in cursive across the blackboard, with a number of rules beneath it. Harry very carefully didn’t touch anything and went through the passage to the next greenhouse, which was a larger version of the first, though the tables were smaller and there were far more gardening implements. Harry paused at a pair of shears that looked as if they might take a man’s leg off, then moved on to a third classroom, with benches for two. He felt the faint brush of a cleaning charm as he stepped through the door, and realized that his boots were suddenly spotless and any dust he’d picked up along the way was long gone. The first few rooms had had innocuous plants around, garden herbs even Harry could recognize and things like Johnny Jump Ups that had a tendency to move pots, but this room was barren with slate floors. Even the benches were granite and metal instead of wood. 

The next several buildings were full of plants, most of which Harry didn’t recognize, though the faint rustle and sway of leaves was comforting. He finally came to the door to the cathedral, for back of a better term. The door was some sort of stone crossed with iron, with runes carved into the metal, but there wasn’t a window. Harry sighed.

“Maybe he’s not here,” Thaxia said, a little doubtfully.

“The map says he is,” Harry replied. “And it’s not as if I can come up with lesson plans without him.”

Harry pushed open the door, ignoring a sudden rush of magic, and suddenly found his hand pinned to the flat surface by a bright red tendril. He stared in vague horror as large black spikes began to appear, dripping with clear liquid, and the vine started to wind its way up around his forearm.

“Malfoy,” he said, in as even a tone as possible given the circumstances. “I really hope you’re in here.”

“Potter?” he heard, then, in an equally level voice, “Please, _please_ , for the love of all that is good and intelligent in this world, tell me you did not just try to walk into my level seven greenhouse.”

“Technically, I’m not inside,” Harry pointed out.

“Hold on,” Malfoy said, sounding a little strangled, and Harry heard a low hiss. It wasn’t a spell he knew, but the plant responded as if it had been slapped, recoiling and whipping back through the crack in the doorway.

Malfoy pulled the door open, glaring. “Firstly,” he said. “That was thirty seconds from killing you and eating your bones for the minerals. Secondly, she’s going to sulk for the next month, and I needed that venom for a potion. Thirdly, what on earth possessed you?”

“I don’t know, it’s not as if you have a warning sign up,” Harry snapped. “’Lethal plants within, stay out, Potter.’” 

“You didn’t notice the four thousand wards?” Draco demanded. “How on earth did you even get in here?”

“I walked?” Harry snapped. “The front door was open.”

“The only open door was to the _first year classroom_ ,” Malfoy said. “Even you can’t do much damage with succulent trimmings and creeping catmint seeds.” 

“They were all open,” Harry insisted, and Malfoy made a strangled noise.

“What on earth are you _carrying_?” he said. Harry turned out his pockets, feeling significantly more like a scolded schoolchild who was about to have points taken away from Gryffindor than a colleague.

“I will bite you,” Thaxia informed Malfoy. “It will hurt.”

“It will hurt a lot less than _dying_ ,” Malfoy snapped, and then cast several spells at Harry in quick succession, mouth going flatter. “Lethe!”

“Stop being melodramatic,” she said. “He’s a Potter. Half of his blood is older than yours. You can’t make perfectly good things out of earth and plants and not have at least a little talent in your blood.”

“I’m not being _melodramatic_ ,” Draco said.

“Well, see if it eats him,” Lethe suggested. “He really oughtn’t have made it past greenhouse five, you know, there’s an entire bed of alluring asphodel in there.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” Malfoy said. 

“I’m not entirely sure how I feel about getting eaten,” Harry said, warily.

“Shut up,” said Malfoy and Thaxia, at the same moment, and that was enough to startle him into compliance.

Draco pushed the door open a crack, pitching his voice inside. “Firstly,” he said, “this is my guest, and anyone who so much as stings him will be on the receiving end of a freezing curse so nasty you’ll wish you’d gone to seed while you had the chance. Secondly, it is not _entirely_ his fault he is stupid and knows next to nothing about you, so try not to take it personally when he falls face first into you or trips over your roots. The first rule still applies.”

If there was a tone to the rustling, Harry might almost have described it as _sulking_ , but when Draco pushed open the door fully, he caught his breath, because it really was a cathedral, the sort of thing only a Malfoy would build. It was wild but beautiful, with a draping canopy of trees and every plant imaginable, from low beds of thyme to horrific looking vines looped across the low branches of a tree that Harry recognized from a muggle book as being – well, particularly lethal. 

“Oh,” he said, staring. There was a very tentative curl at his wrist, and he turned his hand, examining it. It had never occurred to him before that plants might be, well, _alive_.

“Hello,” he said, politely, and this time the vine didn’t put out any spines, merely exploring his sleeve cuff, then creeping up his arm. By all rights, Harry ought to have found it threatening, but it was oddly curious.

“I’m sorry I opened your door and got you in trouble,” he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say, and the plant… huffed and then resettled, her leaves turning from bright red to a dull purple. Harry tentatively reached his other hand up to let a tendril wind around it. “You seem… very lovely. Excellent at guarding things. Doors. You know.”

“Are you seriously trying to charm a leeching liana with _flattery_ , Potter?” Malfoy said, sounding highly amused. The plant flushed red again, whipping a tendril around at him. If Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said she was glaring.

“No, no, by all means,” Malfoy said, sounding as if he was about to start choking with laughter, or possibly as if he wanted to strangle himself. “Let him admire you. He’s very famous, you know.”

The plant settled again and caressed his cheek. “I don’t suppose you’d let me talk to Malfoy if I promised to come visit,” Harry tried, tentatively. “I’ve no idea what you like, but if I can, I’ll bring some.”

“Human skeletons,” Draco said, mildly.

“Er,” Harry said. “I’m sure the house elves might give me some beef bones. They’d at least be a snack, I suppose.”

The plant seemed to consider, then settled back in its position draped across the doorway, drawing its tendrils back.

“Potter, you are a marvel,” Malfoy said, with a sigh. “Marvelously stupid, really, but then – oh, _don’t_ ,” he continued, as several plants suddenly crowded in around Harry. “He’s not going to spoil you. You know I won’t let him.”

“I hadn’t thought, ah,” Harry said, suddenly well aware that they weren’t somewhere so private, after all. “I suppose missing advanced herbology has left me a bit unaware.”

“It probably wouldn’t have done you much good, to be honest,” Malfoy said, rummaging in a crate for a spade and passing it over. “This is considered a bit too advanced for even seventh years. Here. You can help me transplant the vines-of-steel-and-binding.” 

“Those sound charming, I’m sure,” Harry said, then paused. “Very charming. Lovely plants. I look forward to meeting them.”

Draco snorted. “If they didn’t understand sarcasm, I’d probably be dead by now. Though you ought to be. It’s generally not a particularly good idea to go wandering through the greenhouses alone. Or without me, frankly. The things here –“ He paused. “Let’s just say that I won’t go rummaging through your workroom if you don’t go rummaging through mine.”

“You might put locks on,” Harry repeated.

Draco laughed. “Potter, there are hundreds of them. Do you think I want fifth years looking for a good spot to snog getting eaten by something? But the plants let you through. Pansy will have some sort of field day with it.”

“Your magic smells different than most people’s,” Lethe said. “Like wild things. Growing things. You’ve never had to work at it, with magical creatures, have you?”

“I rather thought it was a side effect of the parseltongue,” Harry admitted, a bit awkwardly.

“Oh,” Draco said, brightening suddenly. “I’ve got a bed of sansiveria that needs scolding. Perhaps it would respond to that.”

Harry saw the glint of a large pond, turning the corner of the path, and sat on the edge, carefully reaching to stroke a lilypad. “Don’t tell the ekwensu I’m here,” he said, dryly. “I’d rather not get bitten again.”

“Thank god, there’s nothing in there but the plants,” Draco said. “And they’re harmless. Useless, they won’t produce the tubers I need, but harmless. What in on earth is an ekwensu?”

“An African water demon,” Harry said. “Well, not literally a demon, they’re in the same family as grindylows. Less nasty, they’re largely vegetarians, but they’re a commensal species with most of the African lilies.“ He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They farm them. The tubers. I mean, not literal farming, they’re not advanced enough for that, but they cache them like squirrels do nuts.”

“Interesting,” Draco said. “Could, if one so desired, procure –“

Harry laughed. “I’m already ordering spiders for Parkinson. All right. They’re sentient, so there are stricter protocols, but I rather imagine you might get at least a few families who would be very willing to live in here, particularly if you offered them fish. They’re utterly terrible at fishing, no skill whatsoever, but they scavenge them sometimes.”

“Done,” Draco said.

“Speaking of Potions,” Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “I talked to McGonagall.”

“Exclusively about Potions?” Draco said.

“And the whole part where she’s starting to sound like Dumbledore and Hogwarts is a horcrux and there was a very strange chalice of _blood_ ,” Harry muttered. “What is it with me and magical objects?”

“I rather thought you were fond of Dumbledore,” Draco said, neutrally. “Jolly old chap. Fond of giving away sweets to small children. That sort of thing.” 

“I mean, he did save the wizarding world,” Harry said.

Harry jumped at a low growl from Lethe. 

“Oh, please,” Draco said. “You saved the wizarding world. Granger saved the wizarding world. Weasley saved the wizarding world. Half our class at Hogwarts and a large number of very respectable witches and wizards saved the wizarding world. But Dumbledore?” he snorted. “He let _eleven_ year olds take risks I’m not sure I’d take in my late twenties. And he didn’t gain their consent.”

“Well,” Harry said, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Come on,” Draco said. “Lupin’s son – your godson, isn’t it? My nephew. He’ll be starting next year. He’s ten. See him every Christmas, don’t you? I visit sometimes. He’s into, oh, I don’t know, trains and dragons and Quidditch and turning his hair purple to annoy Aunt Andromeda.”

“Yes,” Harry said. Draco had surprised a laugh out of him. “Though last time it was convincing Melinoe to turn into an elephant in the dining room.”

“He’ll be eleven next spring,” Draco said. “Eleven. How would you feel if I’d sent him into a dungeon after Voldemort? If… I don’t know, he had to fight a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets next year? If I just kept doing that, over and over, to a _child_?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, quietly. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

“Monsters can be well-intentioned,” Draco said, with venom. “That doesn’t make them anything other than what they are.” 

“And your parents?” Harry said, quietly. “Forcing you to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts? Putting that on your head?”

Draco paused, putting a hand on Lethe. “It doesn’t make them anything other than what they are,” he repeated. “I don’t speak to them much, these days.” He laughed, hollow. “In fact, Pansy – I suppose I could have gotten significantly better revenge, but tying the family fortune up with a witch whose pedigree only goes back four generations on her mother’s side?” His smile was cold. “ _Scandalous._ ”

“Do you love her?” Harry said, suddenly. “Parkin – Pansy, I mean. Not that politics is the worst reason to get married.”

“Spoken like a Gryffindor. And we’re not married, we’re contracted,” Draco said, again, as if Harry understood, then considered. “Very much. But just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can’t be useful to one another.”

“Spoken like a Slytherin. She’s very –“ Harry said.

“She makes him miss Hermione,” Thaxia said, suddenly, dashing out of a flowerbed, pursued by seedlings. “I may require assistance.”

“I’m not giving it to you if you spill all my secrets,” Harry said, then scooped her up. 

“I’ll give it, I’ve been looking for those,” Malfoy said, bending down to scoop them up. “She’s not Granger, Potter, but you might find you like her all the same.”

“I’d better,” Harry said, darkly. “I’m supposed to be saving Hogwarts or the wizarding world or god knows what else. _Again_.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic,” Malfoy said. He tucked the plants into an empty bed alongside the pond. “Stay put. You’re worse than last year’s duckling weed.”

“You didn’t see the chalice,” Harry said, glumly. “It was very –“

“Gauche?” Draco replied. “Yes, I’ve seen the chalice.” He brushed off his hands. “Potter, the castle’s wards are failing. Things that oughtn’t be able to come in are coming calling. Very few people are smart enough to understand. Those who understand don’t necessarily want to end up knee deep in sewer muck seeding new wards.

“McGonagall is very firm about only involving those who ought to be involved, because Dumbledore thought himself above asking the castle what it needed and ended up knee deep in blood, which I can assure you is significantly worse than sewer muck. It’s not the end of the world and it’s not the end of Hogwarts, the castle will find its way. But it might find its way in a direction no one’s particularly keen on, and that would be problematic, now wouldn’t it?” 

“She could have just said that much,” Harry said. “Minus the knee deep in blood bit.”

Draco bared his teeth in a smile that looked far more feral than civilized. “I hope you realize you’ll be expected to learn blood magic,” he said.

“I hope _you_ realize I once blew up the entire Potions classroom” Harry replied. “No, wait, I believe that was on multiple occasions.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I rather thought that was Snape trying to sabotage you. You know, Slytherin snubbed for Gryffindor prick, offspring proves horrifically offensive, that sort of thing.” 

“The blood magic’s probably going to be the easy part,” Harry said, dryly. “And you’re not chopping up any parts that aren’t freely offered or discarded from my creatures.”

“Just so long as there aren’t any goddamned skrewts,” Draco said, and Harry laughed.

“God, Hagrid really was awful,” he mused.

“Good lord, Merlin’s turning over in his tomb, a Gryffindor has admitted Hagrid was a less than proficient professor,” Draco said. Harry snorted.

“I was thinking of starting with sphinxes for the second years,” he said, keeping a straight face. Draco paled, then sighed.

“You’ve quite honestly the worst sense of humor, Potter,” he said.

“I’ll probably start with luduan,” Harry mused. “The inability to tell lies in eleven year olds is much less disastrous than when they’re all sixteen and idiots. The older ones can get the shang-yang and their uses in agriculture, though I’ll have to figure out how to keep it from raining for a week in the castle. McGonagall says I’ve got a shed, but they’re moody.”

“A _shed_?” Draco said, incredulously.

“Somewhere around here,” Harry said, with a sigh. “She said it was near the greenhouses.”

“A shed,” Draco muttered. “As if Pansy and Martingale would have constructed you a _shed_.” He paused. “I helped, but I wasn’t certain what you’d be importing, so the habitats are rather generic. You’ll have to ask for more specific plants.”

“Habitats,” Harry said, dubiously. “In my shed.” 

“It’s not –“ Draco said, then slapped a vine that was creeping toward his head and waved a hand to open a set of glass doors. 

“Anathaxia,” he said, gesturing in front of him. “Potter.”

“I suppose it might be a nice shed,” Thaxia said, since apparently she seemed inclined to like _Malfoy_. Harry followed after.

They walked through a woven arch of birch trees, faces peeking out from amongst the branches, and Harry stopped dead when they fully rounded the corner. The buildings in front of him were no less magnificent than the greenhouse, just larger. 

“Right now it’s divided by species type,” Draco said. “But there’s a setting to switch the habitats around – geographically, you know, and there’s one for nocturnal creatures, if you’d like. And an aquarium, though we haven’t filled it.

“McGonagall said there have always been issues with importation, and Pansy was going on and on about a conservation aspect, and to be honest, I’ve built you an entire enclosure just for a boomslang because our Potions stores have nearly run to the ground. It probably won’t be big enough for anything humanoid, but Pansy said that –“

“Shut up,” Harry said.

“What?” Malfoy said, frowning. “It’s state of the art. Modeled after the Jersey Zoological – something or another, Pansy says it’s very good for a Muggle institution.”

“Malfoy, shut _up_ ,” Harry said, opening the first door, and it was every habitat a reptile could ever dream of, down to the tiny flowers scattered in a perfectly random pattern across the sand behind the glass. Harry couldn’t remember what they were called – geodesic something or anothers, but he had to press a hand to the back of his neck.

“If it’s not to your standards,” Malfoy started, sounding put off, and then Lethe leaned heavily against his side.

“He’s grateful, you moron,” Thaxia said, hopping up onto Lethe’s shoulders to see down into a pit underneath a bridge that was clearly meant to be filled with water. “Leave him be, he doesn’t know how to say it.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said, finally.

“Shut up, Thaxia,” Harry said, but there wasn’t any real sting to it, because she was right.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “It’s quite a bit nicer than a shed.”

Thaxia sighed. “It’s exquisite and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude,” she translated. “We thought we’d have to be shipping things back and forth to the continent constantly.”

“Boomslangs aren’t particularly territorial,” Harry said, just to interrupt her. “I suppose three or four might make for better success at nesting. And, anyway, the younger ones shed quite often if you feed them enough rats.”

“Perfect,” Draco said. “Show yourself around, all the buildings are keyed to you.” He laughed. “Though I might suggest checking Pansy’s wards. ‘If’ clauses aren’t her strong suit.”

“Thank you,” Harry repeated, and Draco lifted a hand, already on his way back up the path.

“I’d say I’m speechless, but I’m never speechless,” Thaxia said, grooming her tail. “The Slytherins give good presents.”

“We probably ought to stop referring to them as ‘the Slytherins,’” Harry said.

“Like ‘the Malfoys’ is much better.”

“That contracted thing,” Harry said. “Any idea?”

“Ask Hermione,” Thaxia suggested, and Harry groaned.

“I suppose I ought to owl.”

“Quite possibly,” Thaxia said.

“But not about that,” Harry said, firmly. Thaxia sighed.

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Harry couldn’t say he was the happiest he’d ever been, but life was – good. He thumbed through catalogues and put in orders for things he thought he’d never have been able to dream of keeping, and after quite a bit of floo negotiation, he found a witch doctor in Kinshasa who had two families of ekwensu who were willing to relocate in exchange for a regular supply of tinned sardines, which they’d apparently quite grown to like. He met most of the other professors as they arrived, nearly all of whom were at least twice his age. Malfoy passed him notes as they had tea, including comments such as, “excellent duelist, but more narcissistic than Gilderoy Lockhart,” and, “prefers tea leaves to people.” They were all, with the exception of the divination professor, solid to a fault, stoic and firm and – 

“Not _exciting_ ,” Parkinson said, when he sat down in the professor’s lounge after dinner, pouring himself a tumbler of firewhisky.

“You need a foundation to build on before you start trying to make repairs, Pansy,” Draco said, and she made a face at him.

“Someday they’ll hire Granger and Penelope Clearwater and I’ll be amongst better company,” she said, and Harry nearly snorted his drink.

“Hermione?” he said. “Really?”

“Her articles on the biological origins of magic are fascinating,” she said, with a long sigh.

“I suppose I might invite her and Ron to visit,” Harry said, a bit doubtfully. Pansy Parkinson talking longingly about Hermione was akin to hell freezing over.

“No,” Draco said. “Absolutely not. We are not having a Weasley as a dinner guest.”

“Technically, Hermione and Ron are both Weasleys,” Harry pointed out.

“We are not having _that_ Weasley as a dinner guest,” Malfoy corrected.

“Says the man who’s having drinks with Harry Potter,” Pansy murmured, propping her legs up on the back of the couch. Draco slid into a large armchair.

“Potter’s not a Weasley,” Malfoy said, as if that made some sort of logical sense.

“Fine,” Pansy said. “Weasley and Potter can act like ne’er-do-well Gryffindors, you can sulk in your rooms, and Granger and I will retire to The Three Broomsticks, where we shall discuss articles and theories the likes of which you peons will never even comprehend.”

“And have lots of incredibly raunchy sex,” Draco said, dryly. “Oh, Granger, _do_ tell me more about your theory of magical luminescence – yes, there, _ooh_ -“

“You’re just jealous you’ll never be invited for a threesome,” Pansy said, primly.

“Well, this is rather awkward,” Harry said, staring into his drink.

“If she likes Weasleys, Charlie’s coming for a lecture near the end of term,” Thaxia said. She sighed, happily. “With Chrysippia. I love Chrysippia.” 

“The whole being _contracted_ thing is probably going to put paid to any infatuation with Charlie.”

“Not necessarily,” Pansy said, brightening. “Is he bringing dragons? Do you think he might let me test some of the new Hogwarts wards against dragon fire? I’m fully willing to get naked for that exchange.”

“I will fight you for him,” Thaxia informed her, grimly. “His daemon is mine.”

“Yes, he’s bringing dragons, yes, I’m sure he’ll help you test the wards, no, I don’t think it’s necessary to get naked, and Thaxia, you cannot put claim to a daemon without my… involvement,” Harry said, refilling his glass.

“She’s _beautiful_ ,” Thaxia said, with a contented sigh, and Lethe laughed.

“Should I be insulted?” she inquired. 

“She’s not serious,” Harry said, firmly, and Thaxia looked at him for a long moment, but she let it go.

“Look at Potter, ruining all your Weasley hopes and dreams,” Malfoy said, relaxing in an armchair.

“Intellectual curiosities, my love,” Pansy corrected. Kitcaron stretched and purred. 

“Bed?” he inquired.

“Why, has talking about Granger got you both all hot and bothered?” Draco said.

“Obviously,” Pansy said, stretching until her skirt slid up, revealing a long expanse of leg. “I bet Potter would be nicer to me about this entire situation.” She tugged her blouse down, and Harry swallowed. “Wouldn’t you, Potter?”

“I suppose I could owl,” he said, doubtfully, and Pansy slid out of her chair, beaming, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. He suspected she was the sort of witch who didn’t charm her lipstick to stay put and that he’d be washing it off later.

“Potter, please stop trying to seduce my wife with connections to Granger,” he said, and Pansy laughed, flushed in the firelight, and met his eyes squarely.

“Not with connections to _Granger_ ,” she said, guiding Harry’s hand to her hip. “Look, darling, he’s all red.”

“Pansy, I highly doubt Potter is going to fuck you into the couch,” Draco said, sounding significantly more amused than irritated. “Though you’re welcome to try your feminine wiles on him.”

“I, ah,” Harry managed, trying to figure out a polite way to ask her to get _off_. Pansy let go with a laugh, leaning over the back of Draco’s armchair.

“You’re right, he’s rather fun to spin up,” she said, brightly, and this time it was Draco who flushed.

“That was taken entirely out of context,” he said. “Kit’s right. Bed, before you ruin his Gryffindor reputation for good.”

“What, do you think they’d be surprised to learn the Savior of the Wizarding World likes sex?” Pansy teased. “Oh, _Harry_ , harder,” she began, pitching her voice high, and thankfully, Draco levitated her over his shoulder before Harry had to respond.

“Very manly, dragging me out of here,” she said, but she winked and waved as he carried her through the doorway, leaving Harry with a large fire and an overly full glass of alcohol.

“You know, I’ve no idea what to make of them,” he said, finally.

“You needed more friends,” Thaxia said. “Besides. No one flirts with you at Weasley family gatherings unless Percy’s date is having a horrific time. It’s very boring.”

“What, and I suppose you want me to flirt back with a married _woman_?”

“It could be interesting,” Thaxia said. “You know. Scientific curiosity.”

“I’m reasonably certain the hat nearly sorted us into Slytherin because of _you_ ,” Harry said, scooping her up, and headed back to his quarters.

The students arrived the next day, and Harry spent most of it in the dungeon with Draco, sorting ingredients and tolerating the occasional explosion of temper. “That’s wracked bladderwort, not crackling,” he yelled, and Harry paused.

“Yes, because the labels are _exquisitely_ clear and they look quite different,” he responded, holding up two glass jars with identical contents and crumpled, yellowing slips of paper inside. “Would you like to start flinging hexes at me, or are you going to tell me why you’re so unhappy to have the students back?”

“Fuck,” Draco said, sinking down against the wall. By Harry’s count, it was his sixth tantrum of the morning. “Maybe we ought to be – I don’t know. Finding plants for your habitats. Introducing creatures into your habitats. _Something_.”

“You think I’m letting you and your horrific mood anywhere near the rainbirds?” Harry said. “They’ll wreck the humidity charms with all the lightning and thunder.”

“I’m nervous,” Draco said, finally, looking up at Harry from his spot on the floor. “Last year, the Hat only sorted four Slytherins. _Four_. The castle is trying to compensate for the imbalance in the magic. If we haven’t fixed anything – if it’s not getting any better –“ 

“You and Parkinson dragged me on the roof in the rain last night to trace some sort of Hopi growth charms for vine seedlings,” Harry said, patiently. “And now they’ve covered the entire east wall. It must be doing _something_.” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Draco said, though he appeared slightly more satisfied. “Really? The entire wall?” 

“They seem quite content,” Harry replied, dryly. “Now please tell me which of these I want before I blow up a sixth year.”

Draco stayed edgy all afternoon, though at least he stopped shouting, and he left abruptly a few hours before dinner, murmuring a spell so all the Potion stores went back to their proper places, wherever those were supposed to be. Harry, left holding an empty jar that he’d been half way through labeling, decided that protest was probably futile.

Parkinson made a face when he found her in her office, rearranging books. “Do you think seven texts is too many for the fifth years this term, or should I be asking for more essays?”

“You must be quite popular,” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Twelve inches of popular, Potter,” Parkinson said, with a smirk, pulling down a large text from the top shelf and twirling a long lock of hair around her finger. “That’s how long my first years’ essay is going to be. None of this coddling the children nonsense. Separate the wheat from the chaff and all that.”

Harry laughed. “McGonagall says you’re the most popular professor here. Horrifically long essays and all. You _do_ have to grade them, you know.”

“Oh, but I don’t,” she said, cheerfully. “I’ve set up an algorithm, you know. It evaluates everything in a completely unbiased fashion and assigns a grade. Then I look over the terrible ones and add comments. It’s a win across the board.”

Harry shook his head. “You might be awful, but I think I respect you.”

“Ta,” she said, with a grin. “You’ll learn to love me soon enough. All the boys do.”

“You needn’t flirt so,” Harry said. Kitcaron laughed from underneath Parkinson’s desk, finally climbing out.

“There’s a first,” he said, and Harry realized that he wasn’t entirely certain he’d heard him speak before. “She’s going to wither and die without your undying affection.”

“I really will,” Pansy agreed, reaching to rub underneath her daemon’s jaw.

“I came to find out, ah,” Harry said.

“He’s concerned Malfoy is going to implode the entire table if there aren’t enough Slytherins, or something,” Thaxia interrupted, creeping around a loveseat toward Kitcaron. 

“Oh, that,” Parkinson said. She straightened her robes. “We’ve been working hard for a long time, Potter. The Sorting is one of the few indicators we have of whether it’s holding or not.”

“Statistically speaking, though,” Harry started, and Pansy interrupted him with a laugh.

“I’ve a mean, median, and mode for every year since 1950,” she said. “ _Four_ is several standard deviations below the norm. And I’m Head of House. We had to combine the first and second year dormitories just to make the balance work. Though I don’t suppose you’ll be too sorry to see fewer Slytherins.”

“I might be coming around,” Harry said, finally, more serious than he’d meant it to be. “It all seems like such a long time ago, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” Parkinson said. “I was very young and very frightened, and Slytherin doesn’t hold much with false courage. We care about our own.”

“So why now?” Harry mused. “Why here?”

Parkinson laughed. “Potter, Hogwarts _is_ our own. There wouldn’t be an us if it weren’t for this place. It… shows you things. Being a Slytherin doesn’t mean anything like what people think it does. Maybe you’re cunning, or you’re ambitious, but I rather think Granger’s unparalleled on those particular subjects, and maybe it’s not battlefield, Gryffindor bravery, but it takes a certain sort to stand up to your parents and tell them to go fuck themselves, I assure you.

“I suppose,” Harry said, but he was thinking about it.

“I heard a rumor,” she said, tipping her book back up and turning to look up at him, “that you asked for Gryffindor.”

“I was young,” he said, finally. “And people had said things, and I barely knew anything at all, except that Malfoy’s father had insulted my friend.” 

“’Pietas super omnia,’” Parkinson murmured, laughing softly to herself. “How ironic.”

“I’m terrible at Latin,” Harry said, dryly. “You’ll have to let me in on the joke.”

“’Loyalty above all,’” Kitcaron translated.

“The Malfoy family crest is quite horrific,” Parkinson said. “And Black’s not much better. ‘Purity Will Always Conquer?’ ‘Always Pure?’” She made a face. “We’re not those people, any more. So I had a new one made.” She pulled another book down, flipping through until she could hold out a page for Harry. “I’ll replace it when Draco takes the estate, or when an heir is born.”

It still contained the obnoxiously large M, but it was wrapped in vines and draped cloth, smoke curling around the edges. _Pietas Super Omnia_ was sketched lightly beneath.

“I once asked Draco what he thought it meant to be a Slytherin,” she said. “When the Hat made me Head of House. I thought it ought to have been him, but he said he hadn’t wanted it. But he said –“ She tilted her head, smiling fondly. “He said it was about loyalty to your own, and defending the things that mattered, by any means necessary. Ambitious and cunning and darkness, that vicious streak you’ve seen in us… those are just means to an end.”

“The irony being?”

Pansy laughed. “Loyalty is for Gryffindors,” she reminded him. “Blind loyalty to someone who’s been kind to you, no matter how little you know them, I’d call it a Gryffindor trait.” She smiled, cutting, a little too like Draco. “Unless you’d both been sorted into Slytherin, and then I’d call it house values.”

“That’s a rather fine line to cut,” Harry observed.

“If someone was falling from a great height, would you save them?” Pansy asked.

“Of course.”

“That’s the difference,” Pansy said. “I’d save them if they were mine.”

Harry considered. “And Hogwarts?”

“Is mine,” Pansy said, firmly.

“Would you let me see it?” Harry asked. “Your – mark?”

Pansy laughed. “That means I’ll be forced to save you if you’re falling off a cliff, you know.”

“I’m willing to strike that bargain,” Harry said. “I’d save you, but of course, I’d save everyone. Sorry.”

Pansy blew out most of the candles and drew down a lantern, murmuring a spell. It glowed faintly yellow, shadows passing across the surface. She drew her wand up her arm, leaving behind a faint cut that barely bled, then flicked her wrist, holding her forearm beneath the lantern light. At first, there was nothing, but then, from the shadows, a dementor, cloaked and ragged, made of blood and things that Harry could not possibly name. Fear, he thought, but a sort of fear he’d never known, despite everything. And then, a small, glowing light, first one then many, simple silhouettes growing on the blank canvas of Pansy’s skin: a panther, a wolf, a cat, a snake, and, a little to his surprise, smaller than the rest, a fisher. They bit into the cloak, ripping pieces out of the darkness, until the dementor opened its mouth in a silent scream and disappeared, leaving behind stark, bloody outlines, muzzles stained in black. They stared at him then faded, and Pansy pulled her sleeve down.

“Oh,” Harry said, and Pansy laughed again, low.

“’Pietas super omnia,’” she said, with a smile. “Have you lost your fear of monsters in the dark, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said, honestly. “But I’ve learned that there are monsters in the light, too.”

“Three is much better than two,” she said. “If you’ll help us. I’m fully aware we’re not Granger and Weasley.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “I suppose if there aren’t enough Slytherins, the ends might justify the means.”

“Oh, good,” Pansy said, laughing. “Though I ought to warn you, we’re quite terrible company. We do awful things in the dead of night quite often, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say we were usually up to no good.”

“Someday, remind me to tell you about my father,” Harry said, dryly. “Have I mentioned I own a motorbike?”

“No,” Pansy said, leaning back the desk and letting her eyes go falsely wide, biting the corner of her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Why, Potter. I never.”

“Really,” Harry said. “A _flying_ motorbike.”

“And a leather jacket?” Pansy said, leaning back against her desk and crossing her heels, with a smirk.

“Oh, somewhere,” Harry said, flippantly. “I have several wardrobes.”

“Well,” she said. “ _That_ , you may need to show me.”

“Please tell me you’re not attempting to seduce Potter with your Head of House charms,” Draco said, from the doorway.

“That was locked,” Pansy said, feigning irritation. “I’ll have you know we were only discussing his motorbike. His _flying_ motorbike. That he’s going to show me.”

“How shall I ever compete,” Draco said, and Pansy laughed and straightened the collar of his robes, murmuring a spell to realign the buttons.

“Jealousy is unflattering, darling.”

“How about nerves?” Draco quipped, then met Harry’s gaze.

“I’m willing to help you fix the castle, but no death rituals or utterly creepy sex magic or horrific tarot readings,” Harry warned. “There are limits.”

“What about fun sex rituals?” Pansy said. “Are those off the table too?”

“If I didn’t know better –“ Draco said, mildly, and murmured something low in her ear, and Pansy threw her head back and laughed.

“After the feast,” she said.

“Right here,” Harry said, staring at the ceiling. “Very much still in the room.”

“Thank god, someone with common sense,” Kitcaron said, getting to his feet. Lethe stopped pacing, pausing to rest her muzzle against his shoulders, letting out a soft breath. 

“Stop that,” Thaxia scolded, mildly. “It’s unnerving. I’d rather you try to eat me.”

“I never tried to _eat_ you,” Lethe said.

“Says you,” Thaxia muttered, leaping onto Kitcaron’s shoulders. “I seem to recall differently.”

“Perhaps we might move on,” Kitcaron said, a little bit of a growl behind it, and Pansy laughed.

“Oh, don’t let them rile you up,” she said, pausing. “Potter, does your hair ever improve from that state?”

“No,” Harry and Draco said, simultaneously, and Pansy sighed.

“I had to ask,” she said, then set upon him with a series of spells, until Harry hardly recognized himself in the mirror above her desk.

“It _is_ formal,” she reminded him. “At least for us.”

“Those were dress robes,” Harry pointed out.

“Those were hideously unattractive and profoundly unflattering,” Pansy corrected. “Besides. You can’t wear colors to the Sorting.”

“I’m reasonably certain those were _green_ ,” Harry said. “Also, it’s not as if you’re wearing black.”

“Head of House,” Pansy reminded him. “And your newfound allegiance with the superior house will just have to go unnoticed.”

“Allegiance?” Draco murmured.

“Later,” Pansy said. “I’ll have you know my charms appear to work quite well on Gryffindors.”

“No one’s naked, they can’t work _that_ well,” Draco remarked.

“Yet,” said Pansy, cheerfully. “Come along.”

They weren’t, as Pansy had said, Ron and Hermione, but Harry found he didn’t mind being the third wheel again. Pansy flirted shamelessly all the way to the Great Hall, Kitcaron rolling his eyes most of the time, and Thaxia hopped between Lethe on the long stretches and Kitcaron on the stairs, watching them closely. Harry hung back, letting it wash over him, and for all that Hermione would probably have been giving a lecture on the Ministry’s policies for alliances with other wizarding nations, it felt familiar. _The devil you know_ , he thought, dryly, and followed them into the Great Hall.

There was a gaggle of first years in the hallway, at least a few looking rather drowned, and Harry watched them eye Pansy, then Draco with awe, whispering to one another and their daemons, and then they turned to him. It was something different, he had to admit, but these children had been so young when the war ended, not even born at its beginning, and in their small faces, he saw what Draco had meant. This was no place for battles, just a school, and when they began to whisper about them, he offered a smile.

“Hi,” he said, to one group, with a brief wave at another, and by the end of the line, they didn’t look quite so terrified. Pansy rolled her eyes and motioned at him to hurry up, and he climbed to take his seat beside Draco at the head table.

“They don’t seem like absolute hellions,” Harry remarked, filling his goblet with wine.

Draco snorted. “They never do, and they always are,” he said, nodding at a Ravenclaw prefect as Pansy turned to talk to the professor on her other side – charms, if Harry remembered correctly.

“McGonagall’s a horror,” Draco muttered. “The wine turns to juice if anyone starts getting overly enthusiastic about the proceedings. So I can’t even drink myself through this.”

“It’s a smaller class this year,” Pansy remarked. “Not really much of a surprise if you think about it, though.” She laughed. “Next year’s ought to be enormous.”

“Yes, thank you, I’m so glad we’ve now all had to think about Potter influencing population demographics,” Draco said, taking another gulp of wine.

“Is he always this uptight about sex and babies?” Thaxia said, curled on a stool next to Harry’s chair, all feigned innocence. “Oughtn’t you be producing some grandiose Malfoy heir by now or something?”

“You are _not_ improving this situation,” Harry said, sternly. 

“Later,” Pansy said, waving a hand. “I’ve other things to do, and besides that, I haven’t the time to –“

“Do not say one single, solitary thing about pregnancy or babies and work-life balance, or Hermione is likely to appear and eat you alive,” Harry said, firmly.

“Oh, right,” Pansy said. “I read in the Prophet –“

“Would you all just _shut up_?” Draco said, as Professor Martingale carried in the stool and the Hat.

“Deputy Headmaster, teaches transfiguration,” Pansy murmured.

“Pansy –“ Draco said, but Lethe carefully laid her head in his lap, and he sighed and took another drink.

The song wasn’t particularly different from what Harry remembered, though he had to admit to having attended fewer than his fair share of Sortings. The Hat did seem much bigger than he remembered.

“Abernathy, Samantha,” went to Ravenclaw, with a cheer that Harry suspected was going to get very old by the end of the evening.

Pansy and Draco both heaved an audible sigh of relief when, “Crusie, Rosalind,” went striding with clear purpose towards the Slytherin table. Harry propped his head on his hand and looked at the rest, trying to decide if it was possible to predict where they were going to go. He was wrong more often than he was right, though it was at least a bit of an entertaining game to distract him from Draco’s tension at his side, though when he was sure, he was sure, even if he didn’t know why.

“Not this one, but the next,” he murmured, and the Hat had barely touched his head before “Greengrass, Joseph,” became a Slytherin, and “Harper, Saoirse,” followed him to the table. 

“Still only three,” Draco muttered, but Pansy and Thaxia both rolled their eyes, and Harry grinned when, “Kelly, Declan,” and – with a few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in between – “McLachlan, Catriona,” were sorted there too.

“It’s only forty, anything close to ten is good enough for government work,” Pansy said, firmly, then muffled a sigh when the Hat stalled out on, “Narrow, Timothy.”

“How often does that happen?” Harry murmured, when five minutes had passed, and Pansy shrugged. 

“Once a year, once every other year,” she said. “Either he’d like to be in a house he’s not suited for and the Hat is talking him around, or he’s genuinely a good fit for more than one. I don’t know the name.”

“Slytherin!” the Hat proclaimed, finally.

Draco took another drink of wine. “Really? We had to get that one?”

“I thought we were grateful for anything,” Harry said, laughing. “Even Slytherins who _might_ have been suitable for other houses.”

“I can’t believe Harry Potter is sitting up here cheering for Slytherins,” Pansy said.

“I’m politely clapping for everyone,” Harry corrected her. “I’m merely _counting_ Slytherins.”

“Five for Hufflepuff, nine for Ravenclaw, eight for Gryffindor, and six for us,” Pansy said. “I keep track.”

There was a relatively long drought where Harry watched Draco try not to sink into his chair, but “Patil, Lakshmi,” went to Slytherin.

“Huh,” Harry said. “I wonder if she’s –“

“They had a much older sister, she was a Ravenclaw,” Pansy said. “You really ought to keep up with these things more, Potter.”

“Swift, Alastair,” became the eighth, at which point Draco had brightened considerably, and “Wakefield, Jessamy,” was the last to be sorted, and headed to the Slytherin table to thunderous applause.

“Ravenclaw’s got twelve, but nine isn’t bad,” Pansy said, sounding relieved in spite of herself. “Hufflepuff only has seven this round.” 

“And we’ve plenty of girls,” Draco said. “Last year there was only one.”

“Mother hens,” Kitcaron commented from beneath the table. “I’m sure you’ll all meet the chicks shortly, then Pansy will be cursing their names for causing explosions and Harry will be tempted to feed them to ice lizards.”

“God, I hope it’s not that bad,” Harry said, laughing, and Draco made a face.

“There have been more muggleborns in the last few classes,” Pansy remarked. “Didn’t know not to have children, I suppose.”

“Thank you for that charming spin on the war,” Harry replied.

“I only mean, it’s a lot harder,” Pansy said. “Get used to talking portraits and moving staircases, all your work’s got to be done with a quill and you’ve likely never seen one in your life, ghosts are real and so is magic…”

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally, realizing that perhaps not every student might embrace such dramatic changes with the joy that he had.

“Three in our group,” Draco said. “You’ll ride the fifth years to keep it civil? They were the worst last year.”

“Obviously,” Pansy said, looking offended, and Harry paused.

“Really,” he said. “You really have changed. No – pureblood pride and all that nonsense.”

“If your House is on the verge of going extinct, Potter, it makes certain details seem a little less important,” Draco said.

“Loyalty,” Pansy repeated, firmly, meeting his eyes, and Harry smiled.

When Harry woke the next morning, it was to the smell of vanilla and ink and orange spice tea, a familiar combination that felt exactly like home, and when he opened his eyes, Hermione was lying on the other side of the bed.

“Morning, Harry,” she said, and Harry sat bolt upright.

“What –“ he said. “How –“ 

“McGonagall gave me special permission to floo into her office,” Hermione said, as if law-breaking exceptions were written all the time. Atticus was perched on Harry’s headboard, preening her hair, and she looked tired but happy. There was a tiny noise from inside her robes, and Harry reached out a hand when the baby grabbed for Hermione’s hair so he could wrap it around his finger instead.

“You probably should have owled, but I’m so happy to see you, I don’t care,” Harry said, reaching across the bed to crush her in a hug. 

She laughed. “Please don’t squash the three week old,” she said. “Harry, what _were_ you thinking?”

“I had to -“ he said, swallowing. “I couldn’t do it anymore. And I had to – try it on my own.”

She tilted his face up. “And you thought, if you told us that you wanted to come teach at Hogwarts, we wouldn’t support you?”

“Yes,” Harry said, with a sigh, and Thaxia crawled into his lap. “No. I don’t know.”

“Harry, we’ve been through _everything_ ,” Hermione said, her voice breaking, and Harry suddenly thought about what Pansy had said and pulled her in again, stroking her hair.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he murmured. “You know me. Cupboard under the stairs. Unable and unwilling to accept love. Childhood psychological trauma.” 

Hermione laughed, brushing a hand against her cheeks. “You can only play that card so much, you know, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“I should have listened,” Hermione said, simply.

“About that,” Harry said. “There are a lot of things – the castle –“ 

“If no one has owled Hermione about that by now, I’m going to bite them,” Thaxia supplied, peeking into Hugo’s sling and nuzzling the tiny raven chick asleep against his chest.

“She’s all right, isn’t she?” Hermione said, a little anxiously. “Ron and everyone say she’s fine, but she’ll only take Atticus’ form or Tiphaine’s. Endymion wasn’t like that when Rose was this age.”

“She’s a baby,” Thaxia said, nuzzling the top of her head, then Hugo’s. “Babies are different. Look, bet she’ll mimic –“ she said, nudging her awake with a squeak, and then started to groom her. A few minutes later there was a tiny fluffball of a fisher in Hugo’s sling. Hermione looked noticeably relieved.

“Still learning,” Thaxia proclaimed, with a final lick to the top of her head, then jumped to nuzzle hello to Atticus, who was running his beak through Harry’s hair.

“ _You’re_ all right?” Harry said, looking at her, and Hermione smiled.

“Second time’s harder, but it’s worth it,” she said. “Though,“ she laughed. “We’re really done with two. I’ve no idea how Molly managed.”

“Sheer force of will and possibly a healthy dose of insanity, but you never heard me say that.” 

“The castle?” Hermione said, sounding intrigued, and Harry laughed.

“Like a bloodhound on a scent,” he said, fondly. “Ron’s at work?”

“Watching Rose,” Hermione said, with a smile. “I suspect they’re at the shop. He said if I was the one who couldn’t stop crying over you running off, I probably ought to be the one to fix it, and otherwise you’d come around again when you were ready.”

“Tactful, to the woman who just had his baby,” Harry said, dryly.

Hermione laughed. “Always.”

Harry heard a sudden pounding before the portrait swung open, and Pansy ran down the stairs from the foyer. “God, Potter, please tell me you’re dressed, I’ve class in half an hour and I think my boggart might not actually be a boggart, which would be a bit of an issue given that –“ 

She paused, and Hermione paused, staring at one another.

“There’s another woman in your bed, Potter,” Pansy said, looking ready to draw her wand.

“Yes,” Harry said, dryly. “And she’s all puffy because I’ve been a prick, but I rather think you might recognize her from the Chocolate Frog Card you’ve got hidden in your desk. Don’t think I didn’t know.”

“Oh God,” Pansy said, faintly. “Granger?”

“Parkinson?” Hermione said, dubiously. “What – she has a chocolate frog card?”

“Pansy, Hermione,” Harry said. “Hermione, Pansy. Thaxia, don’t you dare. Even if you like shiny black things. Atticus, this is Kitcaron. Kitcaron, Atticus. And the baby’s Hugo. Oh, Pansy’s a Malfoy these days.” 

“There’s a _baby_?” Pansy said. “Oh god. I’ve – these are my fourth best robes, Potter, and you didn’t warn me.“

“Wait, wait,” Hermione said. “Pansy _Malfoy_?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, a little anxiously. “But he and Potter seem to be getting along, and I rather thought –“

“Oh,” Hermione said, sitting up. “I read your article last month, the one on snare wards with novel consequence spells, that was bloody _brilliant_.”

“You read my article?” Pansy said, going faintly pink.

“Yes, and the one on using pain infliction spells for healing, tricking the mind into undoing the damage, I think, that was you, wasn’t it?”

“It’s not my area of expertise, I was second author, but yes,” Pansy said. “It’s really an honor –“

“You do realize we had classes together for six years,” Hermione said, dryly, and Pansy flushed again.

“I – my life was very different,” she said, primly, and Harry climbed out of bed, grateful he’d decided on pajamas the night before.

“Hermione, Pansy’s teaching Defense Against Magical Enemies,” he said. “She and Malfoy are bearable these days, I think she might actually be able to talk magical physics with you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hermione said, as if Christmas had come early. “Really?”

“Yes, of course, but which branch?” Pansy said. “Because the theoretical underpinning –“

“Pansy,” Harry said. “Hermione is going to McGonagall’s office to – I don’t know, get shown that bloody chalice. I don’t care what the Hat says about it. And I’m going to look at your boggart.”

He was met with identical crestfallen looks. “Honestly,” he muttered. “Hermione, it’ll only take an hour, and then you can sit in on any class you want, and we’ll do lunch, and you two can talk – knit theory or something.”

“String theory,” they both corrected.

“Oh, well, lovely,” Harry said, ducking into his wardrobe and spelling on his robes over slacks and a sweater. “Whatever that is.”

They’d had two thirds of a conversation by the time Harry managed to change, and he had to physically drag Pansy out the door, shoving Hermione toward the Headmistress’ office. “Tell McGonagall I sent you,” he said. “And tell her to put it in plain English, please, or I’m letting Draco explain.”

“I can’t believe you just separated me from Granger,” Pansy muttered, as Harry took the stairs toward the second year classroom.

“Could you explain to me why you think this _isn’t_ a boggart?” Harry said, firmly ignoring her.

In Harry’s opinion, the first morning of classes could – perhaps – have gone a bit more smoothly. Pansy’s boggart turned out to be a huldra, which spent nearly twenty minutes trying to convince him to do increasingly inappropriate things to him while Pansy watched, not bothering to hold back hysterical laughter, and once Harry had convinced her that twelve year olds were unlikely to be particularly susceptible to her charms and that she might have significantly more luck in the Forbidden Forest, Pansy was left with ten minutes to formulate a lesson plan.

“It’s all right, I’ll just lecture on shape shifters,” Pansy said, sounding sort of depressed, and Harry groaned inwardly. “Though I do hate to leave out the practical components.”

“Come on, we’ll just combine classes,” he said, which is how they ended up with Pansy’s second year Slytherins and Ravenclaws and Harry’s first year Gryffindors and Slytherins packed into Harry’s classroom.

“Second years, I’ll expect your best behavior,” Harry said. “Pick a brazier, I’ll be going around to watch you put on the safety gear, and then we’ll talk about the practical and historical implications of the luduan.”

“ _Twenty points_ from Slytherin for showing an utter disregard for safety,” Pansy exploded, an hour later, as she sent a second first year to the hospital wing for burns because a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw had gotten into some sort of spat when one of them found she couldn’t speak about a missing necklace in front of the spirits and their daemons had knocked over an entire brazier.

“Blood traitor bitch,” muttered one of the second year Slytherins.

“And a hundred points from Slytherin for conduct unbecoming a representative of the house, and two weeks of detention with Professor Malfoy,” Harry said, calmly. “ _Not_ your Head of House, given that you seem to prefer the pureblood variety. Enjoy the greenhouses.”

Pansy was still putting out sparks furiously, and Harry turned down the fires, schooling his face to hide his irritation.

“Ten points to Ravenclaw for Miss Archworth’s excellent explanation of the Chinese dynastic succession process from the assigned reading,” he said. “Please read the chapter on Japanese folklore for Wednesday.”

“And ten points to Gryffindor for not blowing anything up,” Pansy added, glaring at the Slytherins.

“I’m not actually sure that’s a valid reason for points,” Harry said, finally, sending an owl to Bewick, who had his first years next, explaining that two of them would be late.

“Sod it all, I think this hole is permanent,” Pansy said, then paused. “Not really my finest pedagogical moment, was it?”

“Just send it to the house elves and bill me if it can’t be fixed,” Harry said, rubbing his head. “I’ve got fifth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors next.” 

“Watch out for Prewitt, he’s a snot,” Kitcaron said. “Let’s hope Draco’s having a better morning than us.”

Prewitt, true to character, knocked over Harry’s tank of will ‘o the wisps, sending them scurrying for every dark corner, and it took almost an extra half hour to round them all up. Harry had to take points away three more times, and he assigned Prewitt detention moving mud into a new exhibit for hot spring hellbenders.

When he found the staff lunch room, Pansy, at least, looked like her day had improved – Hermione was sitting on a couch feeding Hugo while they talked about some sort of wand link they’d performed for Pansy’s sixth year NEWT class, and Kitcaron and Atticus were on the other side of the sofa, talking in low tones.

Draco, however, came strolling in with a literal thundercloud overhead, underneath a conjured umbrella. Lethe slinked in behind him, dripping wet. “I’m going to need someone to remove this _bloody hex_ ,” he snarled, and then stopped short when he saw Hermione.

“Oh, good,” he said. “Granger, here to brighten my otherwise magnificent day. Potter, you ought to have said we were having a reunion, I would have brought my dueling wand. Where’s Weasley? I’d so hate to leave a member of the Golden Trio out of the festivities.”

To Harry’s surprise, it was Pansy who stepped in front of an open-mouthed Hermione, while the other professors stared from near the door. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “Granger’s Potter’s and Potter’s with us, sort of, and she has some excellent ideas about transfiguring the granite into a substance with more magical conductivity, and if you so much as exchange one uncivil word with her, you will have me to contend with.” She looked him up and down and glared. “ _Tonight_.”

“Well,” Hermione said, when a long enough silence had passed that everyone in the room felt awkward, “I suppose I could start the duel by taking off that hex, if you’d like. But if you return fire, I’ll get to you before Dr. Malfoy does, because my son is currently eating lunch underneath my cloak.”

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Draco said, but he held still as Hermione removed the spell and cast a series of drying charms on him and, when she stepped closer, on Lethe.

“Better, darling?” Pansy said, sweetly, and Draco stomped off toward the table of food.

“I don’t think the fourth year combined class is going to survive the term,” Draco said, finally, sitting down at a table Harry had pulled over to the sofa. “I had an entire bed of orchestral snapdragons and someone set _every seedling_ on fire. Lorenson managed to save half of them with some sort of smothering spell, but honestly, we’re not even to _dangerous_ plants yet.”

“The second year Slytherins aren’t proving promising,” Harry said. He paused. “One of them has two weeks of detention with you.”

“I saw that in the log,” Lethe said, with a sigh.

“Well, Pansy’s sixth years seem delightful,” Hermione said. “A very engaged group, actually.”

Pansy laughed around a fork full of food. “They were just showing off for you,” she said. “But I require outstandings on OWLs, so they’d damn well better be good.”

“What happened with the points?” Draco said. “Slytherin’s down two hundred.”

“Half of that was me,” Harry said, and before Draco could say anything, Pansy narrowed her eyes.

“It’s a good thing he got there first, or I’d have taken every point,” she said, a little savagely. “’Blood traitor bitch’ indeed.”

“I would have bitten him for you,” Thaxia offered. “But I don’t usually bite strangers. Or students. I suppose I ought to have a moral policy about students.”

“Oh, delightful, I’ve got them this afternoon,” Draco said.

“First day’s the best day,” Pansy said, suddenly cheerful. “Granger, I don’t suppose you’d give a guest lecture for my seventh years?”

“I suppose,” Hermione said, slowly. “Hugo usually naps most of the afternoon.”

“Don’t be daft,” Pansy said. “No one will mind if there’s a baby if it’s _you_.”

“Pansy, your intellectual crush is showing,” Draco said, dryly. “Granger, I think you’d best be careful, she might make off with the baby to tutor it in the dark ways of Slytherin kind.”

“I would do no such thing,” Pansy said, firmly, then glanced at Hermione’s cloak. “You might let us meet him, though. Once he’s –“ She gestured.

“Finished breastfeeding?” Hermione said, dryly. “Yes, you can hold Hugo. Nerida’s shy, though. She’ll probably stay with me or Harry.” She laughed. “She’s still a fisher. I think she likes it.”

“You know, for the number of times you insultingly called me a weasel,” Draco mused, and Thaxia bared all her teeth at him.

“I don’t have a moral policy against biting faculty members yet,” she said.

“Potter would be far worse off without someone with a temper to balance out his general placid, boring nature,” Draco said, offering her a piece of tart off his fork. “It wasn’t meant as an insult.”

“I can’t decide whether that was the best backhanded compliment my daemon’s ever received or an awful insult,” Harry said. “Brava.”

Hermione laughed. “Thaxia settled a bit late,” she said. “Our theory is that she picked a tumultuous time in Harry’s life.”

“Bite me,” Thaxia said, taking Draco’s pie. 

“When _wasn’t_ there a tumultuous time in my life as an adolescent?” Harry said, laughing. “You’re lucky she’s not a wolverine. Or a grizzly.”

“No,” Thaxia said, extremely firmly. “I am who he is, and he is who I am, and we match. I just say the things he won’t.” She leaned toward Draco’s plate. “Like that you ought to give me more pie.”

“I really wasn’t thinking that,” Harry said.

“It’s hardly my fault that you ought to have been and weren’t,” Thaxia said.

“You get used to her,” Atticus said. “Don’t start, you know we love you.”

“Ugh, sentiment,” Thaxia said.

“Childhood trauma,” Hermione said, solemnly, and everyone laughed.

After dinner – which Harry was nearly ready to put his face into, he was so exhausted – they retired to Draco and Pansy’s sitting room, where Pansy had several books that made Hermione’s eyes gleam. “Oh, anything you’d like,” Pansy said, pouring a glass of wine, and leaned over Draco’s shoulder to cast a series of flickering lights above where Hugo was very solemnly eating a bottle and Nerida was tucked in against his side, apparently willing to tolerate Draco.

Hermione sighed – a sigh that, to Harry’s knowledge, had only ever been elicited by books – and pulled out a quill and the smallest of the books she’d trailed her fingers over, starting to take notes in a notebook. Harry brought her a cup of tea, taking the seat next to her, and watched her write. Atticus was asleep with his head tucked under his wing, and Thaxia was watching the baby with the Malfoys’ daemons, jumping after the lights as they all laughed. After a while Hermione looked up and laughed softly. “You’re exhausted,” she said. “All those students.”

“Very,” Harry said, with a yawn. He glanced over at Draco and Pansy, who were talking in hushed tones so as not to wake the sleeping baby, and if it hadn’t been for Hugo’s red hair and Draco’s endless remarks about holding something with Weasley genes they’d have looked… content. The perfect family. 

“I know she’s flip,” Harry started, a little awkwardly, and Hermione looked up at him with another laugh.

“No, she’s utterly brilliant,” she said. “She’s the best lecturer I’ve ever seen, actually, she makes Lupin look positively boring, and it’s on things no one ought to find interesting, let alone a gaggle of seventeen year olds.” Hermione glanced over her shoulder. “Sometimes people don’t want the attention of being serious, so they hide it. But don’t underestimate her, Harry. She’s a very powerful witch.”

“It’s strange,” Harry said, finally. “Being here instead of home. With you.”

Hermione smiled. “You’ll always have a home with us,” she said. “But you’re working on something important here. Something you need. The war – oh, I don’t know, Harry, it took your childhood and it took your adolescence and sometimes I think it took your ability to be happy with it. Do something you like. Be with your new friends. We’re not going anywhere.”

“My friends,” Harry said, letting the word pause in his mouth for a moment, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder again.

“Yes, I’d say so,” she said, dryly. “Malfoy never devoted much attention to anything he didn’t like.”

“So all the dueling and the name calling and the trapping me in train cars –“ 

“We were children, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “And I doubt he’d been taught any different. Do you think Lucius and Narcissa loved him, the way yours and mine and Ron’s loved us? I know watching Ron was always hard for you, but you never doubted for a single moment.” She reached to tap his forehead. “Your mother’s love is written across your face. I doubt you can say as much for Malfoy.”

“No,” Harry said, finally. “They don’t seem to be on good terms. Something about his marr –“ He paused. “D’you know, is there much of a difference between being married and being contracted?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, putting her quill to her lip in an old, familiar habit. “Sort of, I suppose. I wouldn’t typically put the two together, although I guess they’re both bindings. Contracts were favored among purebloods who wanted house alliances, and they’ve usually got loads of clauses and rules. Marriage is –“ She thought for a moment. “As much as it pains me to admit it, marriage is a property transfer. I mean, of course, these days, it’s about loving and cherishing one another, but in the old days, marriage meant giving the bride and her ability to bear heirs to the groom in exchange for the responsibility of her and her magic. Contracts can be just as archaic, but with solicitors these days, they’re usually not. And marriage is between two people, and you only marry once at a time – a contract is a contract, it’s legally binding but you could have four hundred if you wanted. Why?”

“I think they’re contracted, but not married,” Harry said. “I keep getting corrected. But she’s taken his name, hasn’t she? They talk about heirs sometimes.”

“Interesting,” Hermione said. “I suppose if you were the Malfoy heir and you wanted an air tight bargain your parents couldn’t wriggle their way around, you might choose a contract. And it’s simultaneously a nod to history and a bit of a feminist fuck off, really. I’d have to read it, but I suspect it says she’s no one’s property but her own. And it’s a different sort of commitment. You can get divorced, but undoing a blood magic contract, if that’s what it is…” Hermione shook her head. “Next to impossible, even if both parties consent to the unbinding.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, patiently, and she looked up with a questioning glance, then laughed.

“Think of it as the Slytherin version of being married,” she said. “If, as a Slytherin, you wanted to tell your parents and everyone else to go to hell in the bargain.”

“Pietas super omnia,” Harry murmured, to himself.

“What’s that?” Hermione said. “You really have got to choose between having a conversation and getting my notes on this book, Harry.”

“Nothing,” he said, with a smile. “I’m going to go make sure they aren’t knitting the baby snake booties.”

“Ron would be particularly thrilled, I’m sure,” she said, dryly.

Hermione made her way through four books before the clock struck and she put her notebook down, looking regretful. “I’d better get home,” she said. “It’s past Rose’s bedtime.” She smiled at Hugo, who was still asleep in Draco’s arms. “And I’d better take them back, if you don’t mind.”

“We mind very much, they’re perfect and we’re keeping them,” Pansy teased, then leaned over the couch to kiss Hermione’s cheek. Hermione flushed, looking pleased.

“Thank you,” Pansy said. “Really. The help, the lecture –“

“I’ll do what I can,” Hermione said, face turning serious. “I do think Draco’s right, though. Your northeast wards and structures are the weakest, and they’re the closest to the forest. Leave the towers to McGonagall. The forest was nasty to begin with, and it’s only going to get nastier.” She considered. “And the lake’s not much better – you’ll want unbreakable barriers to section off the castle. Set them in the dungeons first, but every entrance, every hallway…”

“That’s going to take months,” Kitcaron said. “At least.”

Hermione shook her head. “The NEWT Defense students, NEWT Charm students, and NEWT Transfiguration students ought to have the castle covered in a week if you pair up one from each class with the others. And if it were me –“

Her face looked grimmer than Harry had seen it in a long time, maybe since the war. “Dark wizards… we ran those out quite a while ago. But magic has never been the safe picture the Ministry likes to paint, and one of the largest defenses against that darkness has a gaping wound next to a place that’s a siren song for things on the hunt for blood. I’d set traps, as many as you can, the sort that the wilder sorts of magic won’t have much effect on. Plants. Creatures. Make bargains, if you have to.” She paused. “Harry, I would not send my children here right now.”

“Do we need to evacuate the castle?” Harry said, bluntly.

Hermione paused. “McGonagall will know, if it comes to that. But be careful.” 

“I’ll walk you to her office,” Pansy said, quickly, with a glance over her shoulder at Draco, a conversation Harry couldn’t quite read.

“I love you,” Hermione said, hugging Harry tightly, and after a moment’s consideration, she kissed Malfoy on the cheek as well.

“Well,” Draco said, after the women had left through the portrait.

“Fuck, I need a drink,” Harry said, following Draco’s gesture to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a scotch. The ice appeared in his glass without question, and he chalked it up to it being Malfoy’s.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, Granger’s not wrong,” Draco said.

“Granger’s very right, actually,” Lethe corrected.

“I think we might seal the castle against the lake,” Harry said, sitting in one of the armchairs. “With wards to tell us if anything’s trying to get through. That would work with water.”

“But it won’t work with the forest,” Draco said, grimly. “And it won’t work with the tunnels through the dungeons. Goddamn Slytherin and his inordinate love of wandering mazes.”

“We can seal some of them,” Harry mused. “Wrap over it with bindweed.”

“Bindweed, sealsafe, and Pansy’s blanket stasis barrier,” Draco said. “That ought to keep just about everything out. We’ll boobytrap the rest. And alarm the hell out of everything.”

“Do we tell the students?” Thaxia said, quietly.

“They told us,” Draco said, flatly. “We owe them the same courtesy. At least, we’ve got to tell fifth year and above, and there aren’t any goddamned secrets in this castle. Much as I hate frightening children.”

“The power it’s going to take to seal that hole,” Harry said, with a sigh, and Draco laughed.

“A Gryffindor longing for power,” he said. “We ought to just start searching through the Room of Requirement, there’s probably some magical ward sealing device, passed down through Hufflepuff for twenty generations.”

“You know, that’s not the worst idea,” Harry said.

“No, that was a terrible idea, are you mad?” Draco said. “That scotch isn’t that strong.”

“Not that,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “But blood magic. The founders’ blood. It’s still around, isn’t it?”

“Yes, thank you, the cup of disgusting liquid that’s hidden so well even the castle can’t find it,” Draco said.

“Not that thing,” Harry said. “McGonagall said Pansy had some Ravenclaw blood in her. What would it take to figure that out? A search charm? Could we use it to – even the score?”

“Probably, but no, you’d never get it that way,” Draco said, then considered. “Pedigrees, though. Some of the Twenty-Eight have pedigrees back that far. And I’ll bet vital records in the Ministry could do it, if you had someone to put the pieces together.” 

“Hermione,” Harry said, firmly. “There’s no one else. Well, Pansy, but we can’t spare her. And Hermione has children, she’s much safer in a library.”

“You know she’d skin you alive for saying that, Potter,” Lethe said. “She had your back all along, don’t leave her out of it now.”

“But it’s no less true,” Draco said, firmly. “No more war orphans. Besides, Granger can get through that paperwork in – I don’t know, probably weeks, it’d take the rest of us years.”

“Then it’s because she’s best for the job, not because you’re coddling her,” Lethe snapped. “We do not wrap women in wool and lock them in attics, gentlemen.”

Harry blinked, taken aback at her sudden ferocity, and Draco inclined his head toward her. “All right,” he said. “No coddling. But I still can’t think of anyone better with that sort of thing than Granger.”

“Bill Weasley, actually,” Harry said. “I mean, Hermione’s better, but he’s nearly as good. And Fleur knows a hell of a lot of history.”

“Right,” Draco said. “Team Obnoxious Gryffindors and a Veela, in the Ministry archives.”

Harry snorted. “Leaving what, Team Obnoxious Slytherins and a Parseltongue in the trenches?”

“And someone to finalize rebuilding those towers,” Draco said, firmly. “It’s been a decade. That’s got to be finished. You can’t –“

“Transfigure something from nothing,” Harry finished, laughing. “Yes, I sat through all those classes too. I’ll talk to McGonagall in the morning. And floo Hermione and Bill.”

“Wasn’t your girl rather good at that sort of thing?” Draco said. “Building hexes into god knows what and all that? I thought she took a NEWT in History of Magic.” 

Harry winced. “Let’s not involve Ginny,” he said.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Draco said. 

“No,” Harry said, firmly. “She ended things and took up with Dean Thomas. I wasn’t right for her, and we both knew it, even if the fairytale compass was pointing in the right direction. Sometimes you just… outgrow one another. Sometimes the people you meet when you’re eleven aren’t the people you’re meant to be with your whole life.”

Draco took a long sip of wine. “But sometimes they are.”

“Sometimes it takes a while,” Thaxia said, from her spot on the back of the sofa.

“Takes a while to what?” Pansy said, letting herself and Kitcaron back in.

“Convince Potter to play truth or dare,” Draco said, mildly.

“No, absolutely not,” Harry said. “Exploding snap, maybe, but nothing that involves anyone disrobing.”

“Oh dear, Potter,” Pansy said, hanging up her robes on a hook near the door and kicking off her heels. “You Gryffindors do get so hung up on these things.”

“There’s a plan,” Harry said, watching as she advanced toward him. “Draco and I can fill you in. It’s basic, mind you, but I think –“ he trailed off as Pansy pushed the hand holding his scotch glass down against the table, sliding until she was straddling his lap.

“You’ve got secrets,” she said, quietly, her nose inches from his, almost a sing-song. “I want to know them.”

“Really –“ Harry said. Thaxia was utterly failing to come to his defense, draped across the back of the sofa. Pansy’s jumper was very soft, and he could smell her perfume. Different from Hermione’s, he thought. It was sharp and spiced where hers was sweet, and the only floral notes were thick and heavy. Harry thought about what Hermione had said, _a very powerful witch_ , and Kitcaron suddenly made sense. Pansy was predatory, with all the easy grace and deep magic running just underneath her skin, and he swallowed. She was not, he was realizing, a person you wanted to cross.

“Would it really be so bad,” Pansy said, sliding her hands up his shirt, leaning in so close he could feel her body heat in the inches between them.

“Yes, I rather think,” Harry said, voice going up, and Draco cleared his throat.

“Pansy, there are a lot of things I’m willing to tolerate, but I’m not entirely certain my wife straddling another man in my living room is one of them,” he said.

“I could straddle you instead,” she said, climbing off.

“Or we could play exploding snap and no one would want to murder you,” Kitcaron suggested.

“Boys,” Pansy said, flopping down next to the coffee table and summoning a deck from another room. “You all get so ridiculously jealous when I test hypotheses.”

“And what, pray tell, hypothesis was _that_?” Draco said.

“Nothing,” Pansy said. “Really, nothing at all.”

“I really don’t know why I put up with you,” Draco murmured, tugging on a piece of her hair, and she looked up at him with a radiant smile.

“Because I’m very, very good in bed,” she teased. “Or I could be very, very bad, if you wanted. And I’m brilliant. And yours.”

“Seriously, do all of you spend this much time discussing your sex lives when we aren’t around?” Thaxia interrupted, hopping down onto a couch cushion. “Because as fascinating as it is, I’d just as soon you not kill him from embarrassment.”

“ _No_ ,” said Kitcaron, with a flick of his tail, and Lethe laid down beside him.

“I’d really rather we didn’t,” she agreed. “And don’t set my tail on fire again.”

“One time,” Draco said, with a sigh. “You do something _one_ time.“

Harry was surprised at how little time it took. Hermione was already on maternity leave, and Fleur, five months pregnant, sounded a little relieved at the prospect of staying closer to London and at Bill coming home from a job in Turkey. Molly agreed to watch their girls and Rose, and with a little prompting from Ron, Bill agreed to postpone an extension of his contract and take a leave of absence.

McGonagall agreed that the repairs had gone without finishing for far too long, and Harry came out a week later to find a team of wizards carefully levitating stones up to fill in a gap in what had been the astronomy tower.

“Well, that just leaves us,” Harry said, with a sigh, and Thaxia snorted. “Admit it, you’re excited. Adventure! Traps! The Malfoys!”

“We see quite enough of them already,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. 

“Says you,” said Thaxia.

Harry supposed that if Thaxia was hoping for more of the Malfoys, she was probably overjoyed when Pansy appeared in his room well after midnight, holding a lantern. “Potter?” she called. “Wake up. We’ve got to go to the forest.”

“What?” he said, sitting up and fumbling for his trousers. “Is something wrong, has there been –“

“No, no,” Pansy said. “Draco has to steal a sheep. And harvest something or another. I told him I wouldn’t let him go alone, and he said he wasn’t watching my back, so now we need you.”

“A sheep,” Harry repeated, sleepily.

“Yes, yes, it’s urgent, come on, Potter,” Pansy said. She was dressed differently than usual, in high boots and muggle jeans, with a coat buttoned nearly to her throat. “If we don’t get down there quickly enough, he’s liable to leave without us.”

“Right, because of the sheep,” Harry said, as if it made sense, and poked Thaxia.

“They’re being insane,” he said. “We’ve got to go to the Forbidden Forest at three in the morning.”

“I love this newfound partnership,” Thaxia said, with barely controlled glee, and bounded to wait next to Pansy.

“You are all utterly sick in the head,” Harry said.

Draco was already waiting by the greenhouses, pointedly tapping his food, and he looked them up and down in an insouciant sort of way. “You do realize I’ve been doing this alone for years.”

“Yes,” Pansy said. “And you kept having to petrify me to do it, so it wasn’t a good idea then, either.”

“Yes, well, now we’ve made it into a party,” Draco said. “A ‘come and eat me, lethal things in the forest’ party.”

“You still waited,” Pansy pointed out. 

“At least Potter’s daemon isn’t the size of a small horse,” Lethe remarked.

Kitcaron bared his teeth at her, swiping a paw. “Potter’s daemon can’t _eat_ a small horse.”

“Sizeist,” Thaxia muttered. “I could so.”

“Would everyone _shut up_ ,” Harry said, loudly. He cleared his throat. “Could someone please explain to me why we’re going into the Forbidden Forest at three o’clock in the morning for a _sheep_?”

“One, the smoking oleander is blooming in the poison garden, and I need it for the dungeons, and I’m going to get some jequirity while I’m in there for next week’s potion lesson,” Draco said. “Two, my vampire squash are starting to nip at everyone’s ankles, and last time I was in, there was an entire herd of sheep about a mile in that no one’s looking for. They like mutton. And if we can’t find them, Lethe and Kit can take out a deer.” He paused. “I’m sure Thaxia can help somehow.” 

“I’ll have you know a fisher’s primary diet includes porcupines, and we’ve hunted lynx,” Thaxia muttered.

“Right,” Harry said. “Just one question.”

“Why not, we’ve got all night,” Draco said.

“Half of the things in your greenhouse are already lethal, why on earth do you have a poison garden?” Harry said.

“I’m a purist,” Draco said. “It’s the plants that are literally poisonous. Or, well, that will kill you instantly with no reversal. I can save you from things that would like to pin you to a wall and eat you, but if the angel’s trumpet goes for you, there’s no antidote.”

“And we’ve got this stuff at a boarding school why, exactly?” said Pansy.

“Potions ingredients,” Draco replied. “Besides, I like it.”

“Like everything here isn’t trying to kill everyone anyway,” Harry pointed out. “Let’s go.”

Draco held open the gate behind the greenhouses, letting Pansy duck through first, and then lead the way down the cobblestone path. If it hadn’t been the middle of the night and if Harry hadn’t known where he was walking, it might almost have been beautiful – autumn in Scotland, with fog from the lake dim between the trees, and a bright moon shining overhead. As it was, Harry found he couldn’t quite bring himself to enjoy the view.

“Pansy, stay here and watch the gate,” Draco said. “Potter, you’re with me, you’ve got steady hands.” He lifted a bag from his side, pulling out jars. “Cut a bunch of the flowers and get it into the preservation jar as quickly as you can. You’ve got to breathe through a bubble charm.” He handed over a pair of gloves and a very large scalpel. “These are sphinx-skin, they’ll nullify the sap, but they’re not particularly good against knives, so don’t cut yourself, or you’ll probably die. And yes, it’s necessary, the flowers won’t last long enough to get into the jars otherwise.” He paused. “Not everything in here is magical, but everything in here would sooner kill you than let you look at it, so be careful, all right? Thaxia and Lethe stay with Pansy.” 

“Right,” Harry said, grimly, pulling on the gloves and taking the knife and several of the jars. Draco pulled out a key ring and physically undid a series of locks and deadbolts, then murmured several passwords at the stone behind the gate, which parted. He gestured Harry under.

Harry cast the charm over his mouth, biting back the feeling that he was underwater, and looked around. Most of the plants were protected by strong barrier spells, and Draco gestured him forward to a set of tall bushes. He _pushed_ , as if through a curtain, and then Harry could see bunches of pale pink flowers, putting up tiny tendrils of white smoke.

He looked for a moment, fighting off memories of having to trim the hedges at the Dursleys, and found a spot where the stem of the flower was completely separate from the leaves. He unscrewed a jar, cutting firmly through the stem, and dropped it in, tightening the lid. The flowers inside shimmered for a minute and then looked exactly as before: still smoking. Draco gave him a nod of approval and disappeared around the other side of the bush.

Harry filled six or seven jars before his section of the bush began to look rather sparse, and Draco circled back, carrying the bag. He looked at each of Harry’s carefully, then tucked them in the bag, holding aside the charm so Harry could climb out again. Draco took off his charm. “Nicely done, Potter,” he said. “You actually did better than me, I couldn’t get a cluster in fast enough and they went out. A theoretical ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Very generous,” Harry said, dryly, and Draco laughed, undoing several locks on a small building and ducking indoors. “I wouldn’t touch anything,” he said, then walked down an aisle, finding a vine and pulling the gloves back on before he pulled out another, entirely different sort of jar.

“These aren’t very dangerous, actually,” Draco said. “Well, not to touch, anyway, unless you prick yourself on the end.” He broke off several seedpods, holding them up to the window, and put them in the jar. 

“What are we doing next week?” Harry said. He’d largely let Draco draw up the syllabus on the grounds of having utterly no idea what sort of Potions the seventh years ought to be making; so far, he was handling the theoretical part of the lecture and Draco was handling the practical, which seemed to be working out rather nicely, since Harry couldn’t really screw up knowledge about the properties of selkie fur.

“Romeo and Juliet,” Draco said, then snorted at the look on Harry’s face.

“That’s very illegal,” he said. The Daemon Potion was, at least in Hermione’s opinion, practically an unforgiveable of the potion world – it locked two people together, regardless of consent, in a dizzying, wonderful love affair, but anything suffered by one partner was mirrored to the other. As she’d put it, “You’d very much hope no one gets hit by a bus.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Draco said. “They universally botched it last year, the timing’s nearly impossible, and _if_ anyone’s successful, I’ll just confiscate it and give it to Lethe. You know it’s harmless with daemons.”

“Well, yes, we’re rather linked anyway,” Harry muttered.

“Or I could just slip it in your tea,” Draco said, cheerfully. “Teach you to keep drinking things in the Potions lab.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not sure Hermione would keep helping you with the wards if you poisoned me.”

“Well, she’d hardly know, would she?” Draco teased. “Perhaps our misspent youth was just repressed adolescent hormones.”

“I rather suspect Pansy would notice.”

“Oh, probably,” Draco said, a bit of a strange note in his voice. “Speaking of, come on, she’s probably about to have a fit at being left with _only_ three carnivores to guard her.”

Harry snorted. “Are you kidding me? Odds on Pansy, every time.”

Draco smiled. “Yes, well, she doesn’t always know how very good she is.”

Draco locked them back out and cast the reversal spell, opening the stones again, to find Pansy waiting on the other side of the gate. She did, indeed, look rather peeved. “At least set up a linkage spell next time so you’ll hear me yell as I’m being eaten.”

“Won’t work across the barriers,” Draco said, then pulled out a jar to pass over. “But I have brought you some extraordinarily lethal flowers.”

“Huh,” Pansy said, suddenly looking more interested. “I remember these. The fragrance is fatal, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Draco said. “And I’ve convinced them they’re growing out of the nutrient solution in the jar lids, so they’ll hang there in bloom forever so long as I replace it every six months or so. Two air curtain charms and these on the ceiling and anything trying to break in will hit the floor before it realizes it’s dead.” 

“Nicely done,” said Pansy. “Potter, I’ve yet to see as much creativity from your side of things, perhaps Gryffindors really are better at doing than planning.”

“I’m still milking venom from the taipans,” Harry said. “But I’ve got thirty or so hypodermic stakes. Draco digs a pit, we plant them densely enough that anything that falls in gets hit, and put on a false floor over the top.”

“Won’t work on anything that floats or flies,” Pansy retorted.

“Bioattraction field on the bottom,” Draco and Harry said, then grinned at one another. Harry found himself flushing; praise from Draco was relatively rare. 

“And you, Dr. Malfoy?” he said.

“I’m working on –“ She paused, making a face. “Granger said she thought there was a decent chance that if this continues, the dead buried on the ground weren’t particularly likely to… stay dead.”

“So, zombies,” Harry said, laughing.

“Oh, don’t,” Pansy said. “There are three cemeteries and god knows what from the war. We only know they buried everyone, not where. I know I’ve got to go with an everburning potion, touch as the trigger. But at the moment I’m having a bit of difficulty because ghosts keep setting it off.”

“Probably ought to figure out some ‘if corporeal,’ charm clause,” Draco mused. “Have Harry spin it into some of your precious spider webs and coat the whole thing with them.”

“Interesting,” said Pansy. “That might work.”

“You know, we might be better off working on these together,” Lethe pointed out.

“We might be better off working on these after supper, in the delightful comfort of the castle,” Kitcaron muttered.

“I could probably kill a taipan,” Thaxia mused, and Harry scruffed her.

“ _No_ ,” he said, firmly. “You’re not a mongoose. Besides, now I’ve got to collect venom from them for Potions _and_ this, I can’t spare any snakes.”

“Killjoy,” Thaxia said.

“You know, I was not under the impression the Forbidden Forest was an excellent pace for chit -chat,” Kitcaron said, irritably, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Let’s go find Draco his exceptionally stupid, probably mutated sheep.”

“This way,” Draco said. “But be quiet. You’ll scare off all the game, and besides, Kit’s right. There are things here we’d rather not wake.”

It was a long, single file walk, Harry’s wand hand itching with the sheer, unfamiliar magic of the place, and he found himself thinking far less charitably of the fog. It was damp and dark, and even Thaxia was quiet.

“There,” Draco said, about an hour later, gesturing to a clearing, and sure enough, it was a field of perfectly ordinary looking sheep, tucked down to sleep in the grass.

“I think Lethe and I ought to,” Kitcaron said, after a moment. “Predators aren’t extraordinary. And something’s telling me death magic isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s not,” Thaxia murmured. “Something, there’s something –“

“There’s something off about some of those sheep,” Pansy said, taking a step backwards, only a few inches off the path, and then she was screaming, cut abruptly short by a very well-aimed hit from Kit’s paw.

He crumpled, unconscious, and then she was hanging upside down in front of them, limp, feet wrapped in a noose.

“That’s my snare,” Draco said. “But it wasn’t here, and it wasn’t…“ He looked at the long length up the tree. “Harry, what _is_ that?”

“Spider web,” Harry said, grimly. “Burn through it and get her down. Now.”

He slid his wand out of its sleeve, and tried not to gag. Pansy had been right, the sheep were merely wrapped in spider silk and the ones who weren’t were paralyzed, wide-eyed with terror. Nothing was moving, but nothing was _moving_ , and Harry knew with absolute certainty that they’d been watching, listening – this had been a far more elaborate trap than he’d thought. He cursed, softly.

“Draco,” he said, quietly, as Draco cut Pansy down. “They know that’s gone off, and they know we’re here, and we’ve got maybe ninety seconds to come up with something.”

“This isn’t a particularly Gryffindor sort of plan,” Draco said. “But I think I know a place to hide.”

“Think you know, or know,” Harry said. “I can’t hold these things off, and they’re playing with us.”

“Know,” Draco said, firmly. He passed Pansy to Harry and slung Kit over his shoulder. Thaxia’s teeth were chattering.

“Lethe leads. I’m going to follow you,” Harry said. “Don’t stop, don’t turn around, don’t stumble, and for god’s sake, don’t look behind you, because there are going to be a hell of a lot of spiders who are incredibly pissed off that we’re in their forest.”

“Right,” Draco murmured, grimly, and Lethe set off down the embankment on the other side of the trail. Draco slid behind her with a lot more grace than Harry managed, through low branches and brush, but there weren’t any webs here, and Harry didn’t stop to think about why the spiders had stopped there, he just _ran_.

It felt like forever, but was probably closer to ten minutes, when Draco drew to a panting stop. “Where is it, where is it,” he murmured, hands up against the trunk of an enormous tree, searching, and then he paused.

“You won’t like this,” he said.

“Just do it,” Harry said, and Draco pressed his hand flat to a chunk of bark that looked a little different than the rest, and the whole world spun as Harry was thrown forward through trees that parted for him like water, but with no control over his body. He kept his grip on Pansy and tried to breathe, because it felt like forever, but then he was on his knees on flagstones.

“Fuck,” Harry said, and managed to put Pansy down before he was abruptly sick behind a bush.

Draco, the bastard, had somehow managed to land on his feet, but he was panting and pale. “Right,” he said. “I don’t care if they don’t like it, the squash can have their bloody mutton from the kitchens.”

Harry started laughing, the sort of hysterical laughter that started in the pit of his stomach and wouldn’t stop, and a moment later, Draco was laughing too, so hard he slid over against Kit and was gasping for breath against a bench.

“Fuck,” Harry said, again, shaking his head, and Pansy started to sit up.

“What’s the… joke,” she managed, fuzzily. “My head –“

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Draco said, gently, and murmured a sleeping charm against her temple until she slumped back down against the stones.

“Here’s hoping Hermione feels like covering her classes tomorrow,” Harry said.

“I think she’s got a concussion, and this ankle looks wrong,” Draco said. “But Kit would be in worse shape if she were in any sort of danger.”

“I see a sudden upside to my daemon,” Harry quipped, then looked, finding her cowering under a bench, teeth still chattering.

“I looked,” she said. “I looked and looked, but Harry, they didn’t chase us. They didn’t chase us. They stopped at the path.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Draco said. “So all that was for nothing–“

“No,” Harry said, quietly. “It means we got lucky. Because if it’s enough to scare an acromantula out of its territory, we didn’t want to meet it.”

Harry finally climbed to his feet to sit on the bench, looking around for the first time. They were much closer to the lake, almost on the other side of the forest, and there were arches and arbors, covering with plants that rustled faintly in the wind. It was, he realized, warm, warmer than it ought to have been. “What is this?”

“It’s a moon garden,” Draco said, climbing to his feet as well. “It was a wedding present from a herbology professor a few hundred years ago to his wife.” He cracked a somewhat weak smile. “I’ve gathered she probably wasn’t a werewolf.”

“Huh,” Harry said, and then he realized one walkway was covered with a familiar looking vine, red flowers shining in the moonlight.

“Half the plants here come alive at the full moon, the other half at new,” Draco said, quietly. “It’s really quite beautiful.” He looked a little rueful. “And until ten minutes ago, it was my very well-kept secret, so I’d rather you not tell anyone.”

“If you’ll bring me back when it blooms,” Harry said, looking at the arbor, and was surprised to find Draco smiling.

“All right,” Draco agreed. “We’re about a twenty minute walk from the lakeshore. Wait for morning, cut through and take the lake route back, which seems imprudent at best, or go back toward the castle and follow the wall?”

“Sunrise,” Lethe said, from where she’d laid down next to Kit, her muzzle tucked against his shoulder. “The forest smelled of death.”

“The sheep,” Harry said, and she closed her eyes and shuddered.

“Not dead things, Harry,” she said, sounding very tired. “Death.”

The morning sun felt good on his face, _right_ , and even Thaxia relaxed a bit once the sun was up. There was a clear path through the woods to the lake, a path that looked utterly innocuous in the morning sunlight, and the lakeshore lead them to one of the castle gates.

“Coin toss for who’s with Pansy when she wakes up and who’s got to tell McGonagall?” Draco said, not sounding particularly hopeful.

“Not in a hundred thousand years,” Harry said. “She’s your wife. Besides, I can’t carry Kit.”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking a little surprised, and Harry snorted.

“I just assumed you’d touched him _before_ ,” he said, and Draco’s cheeks went red.

“It’s not as if either one of them is conscious,” Draco said.

“Excellent, I’ll put you down for lecturing the fourth years on the importance of consent,” Harry said, dryly. “’Do whatever you like, so long as they’re not conscious, that’s the important bit.’”

“You do know the whole sex thing is bloody stupid,” Draco informed him. “It’s not like that.”

It was Harry’s turn to flush. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, firmly. “And before you even start in with it, yes, I’ve had plenty of sex, but you’ve met Thaxia. It’s never been that sort of –“ He waved a hand.

“I thought you and girl Weasley were _engaged_ ,” Draco said, sounding a bit fascinated.

“There were… things,” Harry said, awkwardly.

“Oh, things,” Draco said. “The great downfall of every relationship in the land.”

“Ginny’s daemon is a complete and utter prick,” Thaxia said, sleepily, from where she was tucked inside Harry’s coat.

Draco bit back a laugh. “Right, I see why that particular liaison didn’t lead to any profound intimacy.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You know, it really isn’t, it’s just that –“ Thaxia said, and Harry clamped his free hand on her muzzle.

“Look,” he said. “Let’s just both go to the hospital wing, owl McGonagall and Hermione, and then drink ourselves into a coma.”

“Excellent plan,” Draco said. “She can only yell at one of us at once, really.”

“Want to bet?” Harry said, dryly.

As it turned out, Pansy had a broken ankle, three fractured ribs, a cut on her scalp that required stitches, and the expected concussion. And she was utterly furious – at Draco for nearly going into the forest alone, at Kit for knocking her out, and at Harry for carrying her about as if she were some sort of damsel in distress and not a _witch_.

McGonagall didn’t see the need to give them a dressing down – “You’re not schoolchildren, Harry, you’re professors, and the forest is no less a part of the castle than the Chamber of Secrets” – but the frown lines on her face tightened at Lethe’s description of the forest.

“I shall have to make some inquiries,” she said, looking them over. “Go to bed, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy. I shall cover your courses for the afternoon.”

“I’m not bloody well giving up teaching my NEWT students –“ Pansy began, and Harry clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Hermione is going to come lecture,” he said, firmly. “You are going to stay here and rest.”

“Oh, all right, but only because it’s Granger,” she said, still sounding put out, and Draco levitated a bed next to Pansy’s.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I can sleep here. She’s my wife.” He glanced at Harry, sidelong, uncertain, and Harry cleared his throat.

“I’m not either,” he said, and, at McGonagall’s slightly surprised look. “They’re my friends.”

“You’re lucky the hospital wing is empty of students today,” was all she said, before heading off.

“You don’t have to, Potter,” Pansy started, and to Harry’s surprise, it was Draco who shook his head.

“He carried you all night,” he said, quietly. “And he – it’s all right, Pansy, he means it.”

Harry was about to add something when Thaxia hopping up on the foot of the cot where Kit was lying, looking drowsy but otherwise mostly all right. “It was awful, and I’m traumatized,” she announced. “I need larger carnivores for protection. And if you try to make me leave, I’ll –“

“Bite you, yes, we know,” Pansy said, sounding fond in spite of herself, and Thaxia huffed and tucked herself into the soft fur of Lethe’s belly, curling up. Draco levitated another bed over, and Harry kicked off his boots and crawled into it.

“You know, I’d forgotten how bloody uncomfortable these things are,” he said.

Draco snorted, and a moment later, they were all in a feather bed with far too many pillows and an enormous wool blanket.

“I’ll expect you to leave that the way you found it, Professor Malfoy,” the nurse said, sternly, when she came to give Pansy her Potions.

Harry and Draco set the traps that evening while Pansy did research with Hermione in the Restricted Section. The work was painstaking and involved more physical labor than even Harry liked, but Draco didn’t complain, so he didn’t either. They set one of each trap type in every tunnel, with Draco’s closest to the outside, then Pansy’s, then Harry’s, since there was a finite supply of snake venom. Harry had no idea how the spiders had managed to spin so much over the course of a day, but Pansy left him a note suggesting that they really needed more crickets, and by Harry’s calculations, they’d had a month’s worth. He just wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know how she’d _encouraged_ them.

“Three tunnels down,” Draco said, panting, covered in mud from levitating dirt out of the last pit, at least a portion of which had proved to be beneath the water line. “What’s that, six to go?”

“That we know of,” Harry said, grimly. 

“McGonagall’s had the NEWT students on the unbreakable barriers all day,” Draco said. “The dungeons are warded, at least, and the towers.” He paused. “Apparently Bellweather’s wife has some connection in the Middle East, he’s getting us a sphinx.”

“Oh, that’ll be a delight,” Harry said, with a sigh. 

“It will,” Thaxia said, looking pleased.

“She likes them,” Harry said. “I’m convinced someone dropped her on the head at a young age.”

Draco stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Or, you know, you broke a killing curse with your head,” he pointed out, trying to keep a straight face.

“D’you know, I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever cracked a joke about that,” Harry mused.

“I live to make light of important events in wizarding history,” Draco said. “Come on. I want a shower. And alcohol. And we probably ought to make sure Pansy and Granger haven’t been eaten alive by books or actually become part of the library or something.”

“You’re sharing,” Lethe said. “I’m stiff as hell.”

“Professor’s bathroom it is,” Draco said.

“What, you don’t have something eighty times as grand in your suites?” Harry teased.

“The good bath is Pansy’s, and so help me if I touch a single tap,” Draco said, then paused.

“You did leave a vial of never fading ink directly next to her mascara,” Lethe said. “I think you’ve been fairly banned.”

“You know, I rather think I’m glad I avoided matrimony after all,” said Harry. “See you tomorrow morning to check on the pearl millet sharks? I know I saw at least one mermaid’s purse yesterday.”

“Yes,” Draco said, with a grin. “I knew that building was a brilliant idea. We can have all the nicest things if we just source them directly.”

“I’m not really sure I’d call dried shark egg shells, for lack of a better term, ‘nicest things.’”

“Yes, well, you try telling that to an entire castle of women whom I’ve got to keep supplied with contraceptive Potions,” Draco said. “You _are_ going to start learning the basic medicinals, Potter, the commercial stuff is awful and we need about a hundred bottles of Pepper Up, everyone’s going to get colds next month.”

“Oh, I’ve made that,” Harry said, then paused. “Admittedly, it exploded, but I’m actually pretty sure that time _you_ sabotaged me.”

“Don’t remember,” Draco said. “Though the time all your crickets started playing utterly inappropriate Wailing Banshees songs was absolutely me.”

“That was awful, and I’m going to kill you someday,” Harry said. “As it stands, theoretical twenty points from Slytherin for inappropriate behavior and interfering with another student’s work.”

“Yes, but theoretical ten points back because I got away with it, and theoretical ten from Gryffindor for you having absolutely no sense of humor.” Draco grinned. “Even.”

“In the morning,” Harry said, shaking his head, and headed toward the library to find Hermione.

As it turned out, Harry didn’t get to check on the sharks or much of anything else, since Hermione dragged him back to London with her that evening for a meeting with Bill in the morning. It was good to see Ron and to read Rose her bedtime stories, to sit around playing chess and laughing while Hermione read, but when Harry finally retired to his old room – the one he’d kept for years before getting a flat down the street when Hermione had gotten pregnant with Hugo, and the one Hermione refused to change – everything seemed less bright than usual, somehow. The lights of London were far too strong, and Ron and Hermione’s laughter from the kitchen as they finished up the dishes was warm and comforting and – different, Harry realized. He’d never outgrow them, but it had never occurred to him that it might be possible to want – to need – more than one family.

“Wa-ter?” Rose said, peeking around his cracked door, Endymion riding on her shoulder as a parrot; they’d been reading stories about pirates at bedtime.

“Yes, all right, one glass,” Harry said, laughing, and climbed out of bed to pick her up. “Then we’re going to play a game where I count to one hundred and you listen. It’s very important to learn your numbers, you know.”

“Yes, Uncle Harry,” Rose said, firmly, and Harry smiled. It was, at least, good to know that _this_ family was doing well.

“So Bill’s really brilliant, actually, he figured it out,” Hermione said, the next morning, standing over a table with a tray on top. Bill was leaning back in a chair, his feet propped up on the table, and Fleur was at a mediwitch appointment that she’d insisted no one needed to go along to, since “ze research!” was more important.

“Careful, Ron will accuse me of trying to steal his wife,” Bill said, amused. “I just called in a few favors at Gringotts. Got a few vaults robbed, that sort of thing. Temporarily, of course. We’ll put everything back.”

“Of course,” Harry said, dryly. “So explain this stunning plan of yours to me. And tell me why on earth you needed me and not Pansy, she’s the academic.”

“Because of your blood, Fleur’s reasonably certain you’ve got Slytherin,” Hermione said.

“What, and we think Draco hasn’t?”

“Firstly, I didn’t want to put up with Malfoy all morning,” Hermione said. “And secondly, we need to see how many lines we can get down through. Malfoy’s will certainly be through the Blacks, but yours might be through the Potters, which go back differently, and –“

“For the love of God, Hermione,” Bill said. His fox demon, Iphinesia, muttered her agreement.

“It’s academic and important,” Hermione protested, and Bill rolled his eyes. “I’ve been stuck in here with her and my wife for days. Have you ever met a hormonal Veela woman, Harry? It’s utterly delightful.”

“Oh, knock it off, you were nearly shagging between the bookshelves the other day,” Hermione said. “Though, she is in the second trimester, it rather bears out your theory.”

Bill held his hands up. “And then I burned the garlic bread with dinner and she started hissing at me in a language I didn’t understand and her face changed shape. Literally.”

“Not like you haven’t been through this twice before,” Atticus pointed out.

“That was different,” Bill said. “I mean – the hormone thing, yeah, sort of, but not like this.”

“Well, you’re having a boy,” Hermione said. “And neither of us can find any record of that, so god only knows what it’s doing to poor Fleur.”

“Okay, one, didn’t know, congratulations on the diversity, I’m sure Victorie and Dominique are thrilled,” Harry said, dryly. “Two, Hermione, you’re the most unbearable pregnant woman I’ve ever met because you insist that no one’s allowed to mention your pregnancy while crying at… I don’t know, _everything_. You petrified me in a fit of rage for forgetting that you had a mediwitch appointment at ten _fifteen_ and not _ten_ , meaning that I was _early_ , and three, before you hex me again, could we please get to the point of what I’m doing in London instead of working on securing the castle and educating fourteen year olds about what not to do with sea serpents?”

“Please don’t hex him, I need his blood,” Bill said. 

“That was once,” Atticus said. “And you probably deserved it. Well, she thought you did, anyway.”

Thaxia sounded as if she was laughing, and Harry bit back a retort.

“Just sit there and roll your sleeve up,” Bill said, drawing his wand. “Still no good way to do this magically, so you’ll feel the antiseptic spell and then a stick. You’ve got to give your consent, though. Repeat this. Word for word.

“I, my little brother’s prat of a best friend, consent to give my blood for the purposes of determining whether I may be related to a Hogwarts founder and, should my blood show such evidence, I consent that my blood may be used to enhance, remake, or otherwise aid Hogwarts castle wards, grounds, and buildings. These shall be its sole purposes, and it may not be used for anything outside the purview of what I have consented to here without further express consent from myself or a designated party.”

“Really?” Harry said.

“Really,” Bill said, with a sigh. “Ask Fleur and Hermione.”

Harry repeated the consent back, shaking his head. 

A moment later, he handed Harry a piece of gauze and held up a vial of blood that was labeling itself, ‘Potter, Harry J., collected 9/29/08, 11:02 AM, GMT, exact verbal consent acquired.’ 

“Hermione?”

“Right,” she said, pulling the cover off the table and lifting what looked like a cake topper off four objects: a necklace with more diamonds than Harry had ever seen in his life, a mother of pearl hair comb, a very plain China bowl with a few cracks running through it and a chipped edge, and a dented metal music or jewelry box.

“They’re found objects,” Bill explained. “All the Founders left heirlooms, of course, which we know about courtesy of bloody Voldemort, but what most people don’t know is that there are hundreds of objects they wanted… kept in the family so to speak.”

“They’re really mostly utter rubbish by now,” Hermione said. “It’s hard to find anything that’s survived so long at all, let alone the sort of thing we needed, but Bill’s pretty brilliant.”

“There you go again,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Look, the point is, the Founders and their oh-so-proud descendants made these things with the intention of never letting anyone outside of the family use them. It was really quite snotty, actually, the way they cast the spells means that even if you’ve married in, you’re not game. I bet the various Mrs. Slytherins down the line just loved having all those things they couldn’t use.” Bill gestured “They burn like hell when you touch them, if you haven’t got the right stuff.”

“The right stuff?” Harry echoed.

“Founder blood,” Hermione said. “But it’s actually even more marvelous than that, look.”

She pricked her finger with one of Bill’s needles, holding it over the music box. “This is Gryffindor, not that you need to know,” she said, laughing. “It’s a bit of a shame, really, the muggleborn witch doesn’t have the blood of great and powerful wizards running through her veins.”

“Neither do I, and I’m supposed to be all kinds of pureblood,” Bill said, laughing.

“Ready?” Hermione said, glancing at Bill, who picked up the glass cover and stood.

“Yeah, got it,” he said, and she squeezed a single drop of blood on top of the box.

Bill slammed down the cover, which Harry assumed had quite a few fortifying charms, and he watched with fascinating as Hermione’s blood sizzled for a moment on the music box and then exploded outward in a fine red mist.

“Fuck, I’d hate to see what they do to people they _do_ like,” he said.

“See, nobody without the bloodline can touch the things, which you can imagine leaves a bit of a pickle for the goblins,” Bill said, casting a biocleaning charm on the glass. “So if they find these things in dead vaults, or anyone wants to put one in a vault, they’ve got to recruit a specialist, which is all very expensive and time consuming, and it’s usually over something the owner didn’t even know they had. So if you’re going to deposit one, you’ve got to sign about a hundred pages of goblin contract law that makes utterly no promises to the safety and security of the object unless you pay something like several thousand galleons extra, and…”

“Here’s the brilliant part, Harry,” Hermione said, beaming.

“And allows for removal of the objects from the Gringotts premises at any time.”

“The specialist removal team usually does haunted objects, but they’ve got a few people who specialize in these sorts of things,” Bill said. “One, actually. He’s a shopkeep in Diagon Alley, uses the extra money they pay him to take his wife on vacations. Don’t ask me how, but the lucky bastard ended up with the blood of all four founders in his veins. He doesn’t know it, of course, and I honestly don’t think the specialist removal team does either, just that for some reason the Goblins like him and want to keep hiring him back, but the Goblins know him like the back of their hand. So we’ve got these four, with a few back ups in case they start to fizzle out, and a few vials of his blood.”

“We’ve tested, oh, I don’t know, a few hundred people,” Hermione said. “I’m doing a new study on the geneaology of the founders and its impact on the magical architecture of Hogwarts, for the record, Harry, and Fleur’s assisting me with the historical recordkeeping. Bill’s just here to keep watch on his hormonal wife.”

“Thanks,” Bill said, dryly. “Try it, Harry.”

“Er, okay,” Harry said. “What’s what, then?”

“The music box was Gryffindor’s, the hair piece was Ravenclaw’s, necklace is Hufflepuff’s, and the bowl’s Slytherin.” 

Hermione looked serious. “Now don’t feel badly if nothing takes, Harry, there doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to who’s got it beyond the direct links we can find in the pedigree analysis.”

“I’ll be mortally offended if Ravenclaw’s hair pin blows me off,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he waited for Bill to pick up the case and pricked himself, drawing enough blood at the start to get a few drops at once. “Got it?” 

“I’ve done this about three hundred times, really,” Bill said. 

Harry reached his hand over and felt warmth, which meant that at least _something_ wasn’t too keen on him, but he let his blood fall onto each of the objects, then stood back as Bill put the lid down. 

“Excellent,” Hermione said a moment later, with some degree of satisfaction.

Harry paused. “It looks like a red explosion in there.”

“No, look,” she said, lifting the lid away and casting the biocleaning charm again. Harry’s blood was gone from the necklace, comb, and box, but the single drop had rolled down to the center of the bowl and was just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing.

“Maybe you came by the Parseltongue honestly, mate,” Bill teased. “Come over here so I can get another few vials from you. And see who you can round up at Hogwarts for an hour or two in London, Hermione’s got a few leads.”

Harry obligingly let Bill take more of his blood, still a little baffled, and followed Hermione to a series of humming wooden trunks with freezing charms cast on them.

“Here’s everyone we’ve tested who’s no good,” Hermione said. “Er, in terms of being a match. I’m sure they’re good people.”

Harry snorted. “That’s a lot, at least.”

“Slytherin’s actually a bit less valuable, it’s all over the place and we’ve found loads of people with it,” Hermione said, opening the second trunk to show vials of blood with green bands. She added Harry’s. 

“So very shocking,” Thaxia said. “Utterly.”

“So much for all that keeping it in the family,” Bill remarked.

“Well, yes, but it means we’ve probably got a lot of lineages, which means different sorts of magic mixed in, which is good,” she said. 

“Gryffindor’s nearly as bad,” she said, closing the Slytherin trunk and opening another, which had red vials.

“We’re so-so here,” she said, opening the Hufflepuff trunk, which was about half as full as the others.

She sighed. “But the one we need the most is, of course, the one we’ve got the least of. Three of those are Fleur, Victorie, and Dominique.” 

The Ravenclaw chest probably only had ten vials or so; Harry could have done a count, if he’d wanted to.

“Well, it’ll have to do,” he said. “Maybe McGonagall’s right about Pansy and she’s got four hundred cousins or something, I don’t know.”

“It’s not just the volume, Harry, it’s the homogeneity of the source,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at Bill, who stuck his feet up on the table.

“Hogwarts gets all this power from magical diversity, right? Everyone’s good at something, everyone’s bad at something else, you’ve got parselmouths and metamorphmagi and veela, who knows. If you could look at magic as one of those godawful abstract muggle paintings with just the colors, everyone’s would be completely different,” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“So we don’t have the original blood and we don’t have the thousand years of magic from witches and wizards that fed into the castle,” Atticus said. “We have to get as many sources as possible.”

“Slytherin, we’ve got a solid mix,” Bill said. “Gryffindor too. Hufflepuff’s not exactly in steady supply, but Fleur’s checked and the lineages are different enough that she thinks we have enough. But Ravenclaw…”

“A third of our Ravenclaw sample is from one family,” Hermione said. “And the rest isn’t much better.”

“Well,” Harry said. “Get McGonagall’s consent and theirs and test anyone over sixteen at Hogwarts. You don’t need them, just their blood. And, what, St. Mungo’s has a blood bank, hasn’t it? Have we tried them?”

“The consent gets sticky,” Hermione said. “Mostly, their consent forms state that it’s to be used in transfusions.”

“Surely you can send out a survey,” Harry said. “The donor registry can’t be private.”

Hermione frowned, but she was biting the corner of her mouth. “Actually, there might be a way around that,” she said. “I believe in recent years they’ve been asking for research authorization – it’s all anonymous, but it’s the sort of anonymous where it’s keyed to a number and the number’s keyed to a person, we could test their blood for research and then ask specific permission if we get any hits.”

“There you go,” Harry said.

“I haven’t figured out how to get it into the wards yet, though,” Hermione, admitted. “We can’t take, I don’t know, pints of the stuff from people, and I’ve no idea how to cover Ravenclaw tower in blood without obliviating half the wizarding population.”

Thaxia snorted. “Are you a witch or not?”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “First year. Excellent times nearly losing my life to plants.”

“You got a bloody NEWT in Transfiguration _and_ Charms, I can’t believe you haven’t thought,” Harry said. “Look, you don’t need Hogwarts. You just need something to _be_ Hogwarts. Like a chalice. Or –“

“A model,” Hermione breathed, her face lighting up. “We can build a model, mimic the wards, someone can cast the Forbidden Forest magic in as well, that’s brilliant, Harry!” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “It’ll take a lot of power, but with us and Pansy and Malfoy and McGonagall –“ 

“Hullo, I said it, before you go running off with all these modeling ideas,” Thaxia muttered.

“Yes, thank you, Anathaxia, I am a witch,” Hermione said, laughing. “All right. At least we’ve got something to start from. I’ll go to St. Mungo’s.”

“Or, possibly, we could owl Fleur, who’s already _at_ St. Mungo’s,” Bill said. “Novel idea, really.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said, but she ran to a desk, starting to rummage.

“I think that’s my cue,” Harry said, laughing. “But let me know how it goes, all right?”

“Absolutely,” Bill said, suddenly serious. “We know how bad it is. How bad it might get. I might make fun, but I haven’t forgotten that. None of us have, Harry.”

“If she gets too serious, she turns into a book,” Harry said, grinning, and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, spinning back to McGonagall’s office.

The rest of Harry’s afternoon was taken up with reporting back to McGonagall and marking all the fifth year essays, the majority of which actually _weren’t_ rubbish. When he checked the map, Pansy was back in the Restricted Section and Draco was in the greenhouses. He contemplated finding one of them, but Thaxia was already yawning. He hadn’t exactly gotten much sleep.

He found dinner waiting in his rooms and fell asleep reading a book on remedial potion making, because he really did owe it to Draco to start pulling his weight in the dungeons –

He woke to Thaxia on his chest, her claws digging into him so tightly they were drawing blood. He knew instantly that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, like he was trying to breathe in a vacuum. He realized suddenly that every light he’d left lit had gone out. His magic was still there, but something told Harry it would be a very, very bad idea to cast anything. In the darkness, there was no moonlight filtering down through the water. Tonight was the complete new moon. He gripped his wand tightly, pushing the portrait open, and even without much light he could see that his siren and every other portrait had abandoned their frames. The anti-magic field of the hallway felt a little better, but he could hear something laughing, laughter Harry shouldn’t have been able to hear, and it crawled down his spine and made him tremble.

He wrenched open Draco and Pansy’s portrait, trying to see in the dark, and thank god, the lantern from Pansy’s office was glowing in the middle of the room, but it was grey, casting darker shadows on everything. Draco was in a pair of pajama pants and Pansy was in a dressing gown, and they both stared at him for a moment before they lowered their wands.

“Potter,” Pansy said, and he could see that her hand was openly shaking.

“Something is wrong,” Thaxia managed. “Something is out there.”

“Something is _coming_ ,” Lethe said, all her fur on end, her pupils narrowed to slits.

“I think it’s the tunnel behind my rooms,” Harry said, but speaking was hard, like there wasn’t enough air, like he was too afraid.

“The barrier wards down the dungeons and to trap the children in,” Draco said. “Trip them. _Now_.”

“What if someone’s out –“ Pansy said, and Harry unrolled the map that he’d managed to grab off his desk.

“Nothing,” he said. “No one. Do it.”

Pansy pulled a box down from the shelf. An identical one had been given to every Professor, the Head Boy and Girl, and the prefects. She closed her eyes and felt her way through the slots, mouthing numbers and shapes. She’d done the same thing he had, Harry realized: memorized by shape and feel instead of color.

“This one,” she said, pulling out a circular piece of glass, so thin Harry could barely see through it, and though he couldn’t see the color, he knew it was green.

“ _Do_ it,” Draco hissed, and Pansy looked at her wand for a moment before throwing it at the floor.

They all flinched at the sound, the sudden rush of magic, but a sudden shudder of relief ran through Harry: the children were safe.

Pansy pulled a second, larger piece of glass out of the box, a sphere filled with glowing liquid, though it was so faint in the darkness that Harry couldn’t believe it was meant to look like a will ‘o the wisp. He’d made the keys to the dungeons himself.

Pansy looked at the map again, then at Harry.

“There’s no one,” she repeated, quietly. “It’s only us.” 

“Break it,” Harry said. “Break it, Pansy.”

“We could get help –“ she said.

“No,” Draco said, grimly. “We cannot let it into the castle.”

“It will kill them, Pansy,” Harry said, flatly. “It will kill anyone it finds, everyone it finds, and no one is going to get here in time.”

Pansy threw the globe at the floor, and there was the briefest flash of foxfire before it went out, fire that should have burned for days. The castle settled, as if into a sigh, and Harry heard it again, that high-pitched laughter, followed by a voice that crept into his bones, whispering in his ear as if someone had cupped their hand around it. It was as tender as a lover’s caress, but the opposite, somehow, the opposite of everything Harry had ever loved, and he ground his teeth down again against the sensation.

_Come out, come out, wherever you are…._

“Well, now we’re trapped in here with it,” Pansy said. “What do you propose we do?”

“Kill it before it kills us,” Kitcaron said, flatly.

“We’re going hunting,” Draco said, heading back toward the bedroom. Pansy ducked into another doorway, and it felt like an eternity before they both emerged, dressed and silent. Draco strapped a hunting knife to his leg, and Pansy tucked a second wand into her sleeve.

“The lantern, Potter,” Draco said, finally. “It won’t go out.” He laughed, a very hollow sound. “It’s set to the phases of the moon.”

Pansy pushed open the portrait, and they climbed out, Draco watching behind until the latch clicked, profoundly loud in the darkness.

“It got through the traps, or it came in through a tunnel we haven’t set yet,” Draco said.

“It came in through the traps,” Harry said, eyes on the long, dark hallway ahead of them.

“Through…” Pansy said, then flinched when she realized the implication.

“We ought to have left yours broken,” Draco said. “A ghost, Potter?”

“Nothing nearly so good,” Harry said, quietly. “I don’t – know what it is, exactly, but the list is limited, and everything I can think of is very, _very_ bad.”

“Quiet,” Pansy hissed, and Harry heard laughter again, Thaxia gripping so hard he could feel the blood running down his shoulders.

 _Some_ thing _wi_ cked _this way comes…._

It was cold, so cold, horrifically cold, and Harry thought that if it was possible, he might die of fear. It was not a feeling he’d _felt_ before, but the dull reflection in Pansy’s eyes told him it was getting to all of them. Tears were running down her cheeks.

“The third,” Lethe said, suddenly. “It’s in the third.” She growled, low and vicious. “I can smell it, hear it, I want to _taste_ it –“ 

Harry watched Kit’s fur along his spine rise, saw him crouch and growl, and Thaxia was breathing hard against his neck.

_Children, little children, won’t you come out and play…_

“Potter,” Draco said, flatly. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Harry winced, spitting to clear his mouth. “I know what it is. And she eats daemons.”

“Like a dementor,” Pansy said, tentatively. “We’ve all – we’ve all dealt with dementors.”

“No,” Harry said, flatly. “She _eats_ them.”

Pansy whirled around and was sick. 

“Is there anything?” Draco said, finally.

“The killing curse,” Harry said. “She’s alive enough to be put down. But it’s – you can’t put enough power behind it, one of us isn’t enough. All of us casting simultaneously wouldn’t be enough. We need a power source, and we haven’t got one.”

“I thought –“ Pansy said, then cleared her throat. “Avada kedavra kills everything. And if it’s undead, it won’t work.”

“She’s alive enough,” Harry said, grimly. “She’s stolen enough life to be clinging to the edge. They like their daemons… young.”

_I can play a counting game, can you play a counting game, hide and I’ll find you… one, two, three…_

“Avada kedavra,” Draco said, rolling the words around in his mouth.

“You don’t understand,” Harry said, and it was getting colder. “We don’t have enough power.”

Draco’s smile in the lantern glow was feral, predatory. “Oh, but we do,” he said. “Potter, what are the base magics, the elementals.”

“Birth,” Harry said. “Death. Blood. Sex. Daemons.” 

“Well,” Draco said. “We’ve got up to four of the five. It’s old magic, Potter. It looks different, feels different, but the power in it…” He tilted his head back. “It could work.”

Pansy brushed herself off, gripping the second wand, white-knuckled. “It’s going to have to work,” she said. “And we’ve got three of the five, darling. No one’s dying tonight.”

“What else, Potter,” Draco said, low.

“She’s playing,” Harry said. “Only trust what you can feel with your hands. And if she can lure a daemon out, she will. They’ll go half mad with blood lust if we get any closer. Or lust. I’m not sure it matters.”

_You’ve been hiding far too long…_

“Stay or go?” Draco said.

 _You’re not playing a_ nice _game… you’re not playing a_ fair _game, you really ought to come out_ …

“Go,” Pansy said, quietly, as if she knew something they didn’t. “We have to move.”

_I will find you, I will show you, oh, I will show you anything you like…_

Harry took an unsteady step towards the door that lead to the hallway with access to the third passage, and Lethe and Kitcaron nearly shoved him out of the way, low and hunting. Draco and Pansy ducked through silently, and Harry held the lantern up, revealing the length of the corridor. 

“That door,” Pansy said, swallowing. “Through that door.”

_Are you afraid now? You know I wouldn’t hurt you…_

The closer they got, the worse Harry felt, until they’d cleared the length of the corridor. Frost was forming around the edges of the door then thawing, dripping down in the darkness, and it was far too dark to just be water.

_I can hear you, just a little closer, you know the rules… will you run from me, little children?_

“This is not going to be pleasant,” Harry said, and jerked open the door.

She was at the end of the hallway, a beautiful woman, the most beautiful he’d ever seen, but she was _wrong_ , with no daemon and no soul.

“ _Come here_ ,” she whispered. “ _Come here, little ones, just a little closer…_ ”

“No way in hell,” Pansy said, and spat between them.

“ _YOU HAVE SOMETHING I WANT_ ,” she roared, and Pansy’s barrier charm was suddenly the only thing between them. She’d come down the length of the tunnel in seconds. The daemons threw themselves at it, until Harry grabbed Thaxia, kicking and fighting, scruffing her to keep her tight against his chest. Up close, the spirit was nothing like the vision in the distance. She was horror itself, with flesh falling off her skull, the muscles of her jaw rotting away as she screamed.

“ _MINE, THEY ARE MINE, I WILL TAKE WHAT IS MINE!_ ”

Draco sliced his palm open, murmuring something under his breath in Latin, and Pansy’s wand glowed for a moment before it plunged back into darkness, and the laughter, Harry thought the laughter might drive him out of his mind.

“ _YOU THINK YOU CAN PLAY WITHOUT THE RULES_ ,” she screamed. “ _CHEATERS, LIARS, THIEVES, LIGHT-BRINGERS, SOUL STEALERS, GIVE ME WHAT IS MINE!_ ”

“Sex or daemons,” Draco said, then paused. “Sex _and_ daemons. A novel option. Potter, give Pansy Thaxia.”

“I really don’t think –“ Harry said, teeth chattering.

“Lethe won’t work,” Draco said, flatly. “And that shield isn’t going to hold forever.”

“I can’t,” Harry said. This was really not the time for this discussion.

“ _Give her Thaxia_ ,” Draco snarled, and Pansy stared at the thing through the broken glass reflection of the barrier.

“Draco,” Pansy said, softly. “He can’t.”

“Look,” Draco said. “We are all going to _die_ , I don’t care what your fucking Gryffindor morals are or if you’re taking his side –“

“He can’t give me Thaxia like you can’t give me Lethe,” Pansy said. “Harry, give me your hand.” She turned, meeting his eyes. “Trust me. And believe what you can touch.”

She reached, pushing Thaxia off his shoulder, and it was odd, an intimacy so foreign Harry didn’t have a name for it, at least until Draco reached out to catch her on instinct. Then Harry’s knees buckled and there was nothing else, _nothing_ , as all the warmth suddenly came flooding back into his body.

“Harry?” Thaxia said, groggily, and Harry groped in the darkness for Lethe with his free hand, burying it in the soft, silken fur at the nape of her neck. Draco was staring, meeting his eyes, holding his daemon.

“Draco,” Harry said, and that was all he could manage before Draco cradled Thaxia against his chest, lifted a bloody palm to Harry’s cheek, and Harry pulled him down and kissed him hard.

He could breathe again but he couldn’t, gasping for air between kisses, frantic and heated and messy, wanting to _take_ him, Draco pulling him closer with just a hand on his jaw, Lethe pushing them together with a growl that indicated a very different sort of hunt. In the background, he could hear screaming, an endless litany that was slowly degrading in coherence:

“ _MINE MINE YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM THEY ARE MINE MINE THOSE ARE NOT THE RULES THAT CHILDREN PLAY BY THOSE ARE NOT THE RULES CHEATERS LIARS THEY ARE MINE!_ ”

“No,” Harry said, against Draco’s mouth, “ _mine_ ,” and drew Draco up in another kiss, Thaxia crushed between them, Lethe shoving them together with all her weight, and through it all, Harry kept his grip on Pansy’s hand.

“I’m going to drop the barrier,” she said, voice steady, and Harry didn’t care, nothing else mattered but Draco’s mouth on his own and their bodies pressed together, and the heat, the way Draco’s fingers felt in Thaxia’s fur, as if he was touching places Harry had never even _seen_ , never even known _existed_ -

It was cold again, briefly, such a quick flash that Harry hardly noticed. He was warm. Draco was warm.

“Avada kedavra,” Pansy said, enunciating every syllable with perfect clarity, and the words poured through Harry, burning inside of his mouth, and then – then –

Then, it was over.

“Oh, my God,” Draco said, faintly, and stepped backwards hard, nearly knocking over Pansy, and when he saw what was at their feet he covered his mouth and doubled over, turning away before he started retching.

“The barrier charms,” Harry said, finally, still dizzy. “They’ll be trying to get in –“

Pansy’s lips were starting to blister, and her voice was so hoarse Harry could hardly hear her. 

“Down,” she murmured, staring at him.

“It’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here,” Kit said, winding around her legs, pushing his head up into her hand frantically.

Thaxia was nuzzling Harry and making urgent noises, breath warm against his face, and Harry held her and breathed, in and out, until his heart rate finally started to slow.

“You _bitch_ ,” Draco said, finally, voice like a slap out of nowhere, and Harry whipped his head up to look at him. Pansy was already watching.

“Draco –“ she forced out.

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice dripping venom. “How long have you known? How long have you known, Pansy?” 

He took a step forward until there were only inches between them. “’You’ve got secrets,’” he mocked, cutting. “’I want to know them.’”

“I didn’t –“

“How _long_ have you _kept it to yourself_ ,” he snarled.

“Weeks,” she said, finally, tears streaming down her face again, “weeks. There was a boggart – not a boggart, a huldra – it couldn’t get anywhere with him, and – the siren in the portrait’s never even tried – Thaxia – Charlie’s daemon –“

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry said, sharply. “Malfoy. It wasn’t her secret to tell.”

“You,” Draco said, turning to face him. “You – what are we, not good enough, not safe enough, not _Gryffindors_ , like we don’t deserve handshakes and defending during the war and any sort of trust –“

Harry met his gaze, even. “It’s not as if you told me,” he said.

“That’s different,” Draco said.

Harry took a step forward. “Is it? Really? Because I haven’t told anyone I was married, and I haven’t lied to your face, and honestly, I haven’t told anyone much of anything at all, so you haven’t got any ground to stand on.“

“It’s different,” Draco repeated, but his voice was less steady.

“Pietas super omnia,” Harry said, cold. “ _Super omnia_ , Malfoy.” He took another step forward. “So tell me again how it’s different.”

“McGonagall’s coming,” Pansy rasped, suddenly, and Draco turned on his heel.

“I know how it got in,” he said, flatly. “I’m going to go fix it before something worse shows up.”

“Draco,” Pansy said.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he snapped, and slammed the door behind him.

“Well,” Harry said, a moment later, staring at the wreckage in front of them. “I should probably tell you, I prefer men.”

That was how McGonagall and Martingale found them, Pansy doubled over with laughter, crying from the pain, and Harry on his knees, shaking, laughing too.

“My God,” McGonagall said, with a hand to her mouth. Then Hermione and Ron shoved through the doorway, running to him, slamming into him. He caught them with one arm and held out a hand to Pansy, reaching around Hermione, pulling her into the warmth of their circle.

“Her too,” he said, wiping the tears of laughter and fear off his face. “Her too.”

McGonagall burned the remains with fire so hot it glowed white, until even the ash caught on fire and burned. Harry watched the dust blow away.

“I’ve heard of – one, maybe,” Harry said, later, in front of her fireplace, over a very large glass of scotch. Ron and Hermione had taken one look at Pansy’s mouth and throat and dragged her to the Potions dungeon for Draco’s personal stash of healing Potions. It was all right, Harry thought. He trusted them. “A sihuehuet, a siguanaba,” he said. “They call them a lot of things in different places.” He laughed, taking a long swallow of scotch. “I suppose we ought to be grateful I was looking through texts for Latin America for spring, though obviously I wouldn’t have brought one of those into the castle.” He paused, thoughtfully. Everything seemed very far away. “I do hope someone checked on the sharks.”

“We owe you a tremendous debt, Harry,” McGonagall said, quietly. “Though I think you may be in shock. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Professor, I’m not sure I’m going to want to, and the details don’t matter,” he said, finally. “Pansy killed it.”

“Do you think we should send the students home?”

Harry laughed. “Well,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Maybe we ought to ask The Hat.”

“Go to bed, Harry,” McGonagall said, with a faint smile, rummaging in a cabinet for a moment before she pressed a bottle of firewhiskey into his hands. “Be with your friends.”

Harry didn’t particularly want to go back to the dungeons, but the torches were lit and people were about, seventh years walking the hallways with professors. The portraits had mostly returned. Though Draco and Pansy’s was still gone, the frame was cracked. 

Hermione met him at the door. Ron and Pansy were on the couch, Ron pressed against her side, doing some dramatic impersonation that had her laughing. Maybe, Harry thought, Ron had moved on some since the war, too. The spot Hermione had abandoned was obvious – Atticus was on the floor, preening Kit’s fur while Tiphaine curled into a tight ball against his haunches, resting her red muzzle on his back. She looked at him without saying anything, and at the sight of her familiar irish setter form, Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Pansy told me what happened while Ron was talking to the Headmistress,” Hermione murmured. “He still hasn’t come back.”

“I know,” Harry said. “He won’t, I think.”

He pulled her in for a long, hard hug, burying his face in her hair. Hermione kept her voice light, but it was shaking. “I don’t know what it is about you and this castle,” she said. “But if you wouldn’t mind avoiding nearly getting killed on a regular basis, I think your godchildren would appreciate it.”

“You know, I’d really prefer that,” Harry said, with a laugh, and set down the bottle of firewhiskey.

Ron was suddenly behind him, crushing him between them in another hug, but Harry found himself looking at Pansy.

“Do you think –“ Harry said, clearing his throat. “Do you think you might give us a minute? My rooms are just down the hall.”

“His password is ‘faith,’” Pansy said, voice still rough and rasping but much better than it was.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione said, and Ron looked like he was about to say something, but he shook his head and thought better of it.

“She’s not so bad,” he said, with a wink for Pansy. “Killing demons and looking like that after.”

“Careful, Ron,” Hermione warned, but there was no bite to it. “Don’t flirt with Slytherins, they’ll flirt back.”

“I rather think she started it,” Ron teased, glancing over Harry’s shoulder at Pansy.

“Yes, that’s exactly what she wants you to think, scoundrel,” Hermione said, with a smile for Pansy and a glance at Harry. “That’s how they hook you, you know. Being smart and kind and brave and fanciable.”

“Why, Hermione, you’ve never said, we should really discuss this further,” Ron joked, with a wave as they ducked out the portrait.

“Hi,” Harry said, and he crossed the room and gathered her in his arms for a long moment. Thaxia ran to groom Kit’s face a little frantically, as if she could make everything all right again.

“Oh, Harry,” Pansy sighed, and he cupped her face and kissed her forehead.

“You were brilliant,” he said, softly. “So brilliant, Pansy. So brave.”

Her lips still looked sunburned, but Harry suspected the tear she wiped away didn’t have much to do with the pain.

“Brilliant would probably have thought a bit more about that plan,” she said, somewhat bitterly. Harry laughed.

“I’d rather be alive and have Malfoy to deal with than the alternative,” he said, then paused, tilting his head with a smile. “Oh, wait, maybe not.”

“There are things I should tell you,” Pansy started.

“No,” Harry said, gently. “There are things he should tell me. And that I should tell him.”

“It’s generally not a very good idea to go into these things blindly,” Pansy said, dryly. “At least not with Draco.”

“I’m a Gryffindor, we have absolutely no sense whatsoever,” Harry said. 

Pansy laughed, softly. “Harry –“

“Really,” he said, gently. “There are things I need to tell you, too, but you’re here and safe and he’s probably off stabbing himself with gardening shears, so they’ll have to wait.”

He kissed her forehead again. “But you’re family. And Ron and Hermione are family. They’ll take care of you. Right, Thaxia?”

“Right,” Thaxia said, firmly. “They’re first rate. They’re our people.”

“You’re our people, too,” Harry said, reaching a hand down and deliberately rubbing under Kit’s muzzle. 

Pansy smiled. “Who’d have thought,” she said. “You’re going to find him, then?”

“No, I know where he is,” Harry said.

“Just –“ Pansy said, grabbing his wrist as he started to stand. “Be careful, Harry. Someone told him he was broken, once, and he’s never stopped believing it.”

“I know more than you’d think about that,” Harry said. “I’ll bring him back, okay?”

“Okay,” Pansy said, with a small smile. “In one piece, preferably.”

“No promises,” Harry said. “Ron and Hermione will be back in a minute.”

“Atticus is waiting to watch you leave,” Pansy said, dryly. “It’ll be less than that.”

Harry let himself out, going down to the greenhouses, and he could see the gate, iron twisted and bend, but there was sealsafe growing up the metal, knitting the wards back together as it went. The dead grass along the path to the tunnel was starting to fill in already, and Harry pulled his cloak a little tighter and summoned his broom.

He’d hardly had time for flying lately, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever not known how, and he went over the wall and over the lake. The stars reflected out over the still water, unmasked by the darkness of the hidden moon. Harry kicked the broom down, just a few feet over the water.

“You’ll have to find Lethe,” he told Thaxia, who was curled around his neck like a stole, and she nipped him fondly.

“There’s a path, idiot,” she said. “He didn’t think to hide it again.”

“You’re still going to follow it straight to her,” Harry said, laughing softly. “And then shut up for a while, okay?”

“Silent as the grave,” Thaxia said, then made a face. “Silent as something that’s very alive and well but being silent.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. Thaxia rode him to the garden gate, where she climbed down, and he left his broom and cloak just inside, heading toward the arbor.

“Which one of you is it?” Draco said, flatly, from inside, where Harry couldn’t see him.

“Which do you think?” Harry said.

“Dunno,” Draco said, and Harry ducked underneath the curtain of vines. There were hundreds of tiny glowing orbs, floating all through the air where they’d let go of the vine itself, and he laughed with sudden delight in spite of himself, reaching out to touch one. Draco was slumped against the furthest part of the arbor, with a bottle of whiskey beside him, but it was unopened. Thaxia found Lethe, who was lying on the flagstones, watching the flowers. Harry watched them twine together, then slid down next to Draco.

“I saw the gate,” he said.

“It ought to hold, for a bit,” Draco said, finally.

There was a long silence, and if it wasn’t comfortable, it was at least bearable. Harry reached up and caught a flower, holding it in the palm of his hand. It uncurled, petals flaring out, to reveal a glowing seed. 

“It’s not a secret,” Harry said, finally, plucking the seed out and holding it flat in his hand, watching it flicker. “I always thought that I’d told the people who needed to know. But I ought to have realized you were someone who needed to know much sooner than this, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Draco said, flatly, and Harry moved until he could look him in the face.

“You honestly believe that,” he said, surprised. He’d meant it as a question, but it wasn’t, really.

“Yes,” Draco said. “I do.”

“Well, I don’t,” Harry said, firmly. “You’re family.”

Draco laughed, but it wasn’t a good sound, wasn’t _his_ laugh. “You Gryffindors,” he said, sounding too sad to be bitter. “You throw that word around, and you’ve no idea what it means.”

“Oh, I’ve every idea what it means,” Harry said.

“Two people know,” Draco said. “That’s why it’s different.”

“No, that’s not why it’s different,” Harry said, gently. “It’s because one of the two people is your father.”

“Pansy told you,” Draco said, flatly. “Glad she’s keeping all the wrong secrets.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry said, a little sharply. “Give me a little credit. And give her some, too. She loves you.”

“I know,” Draco said, finally. “Well, she did.”

“I hardly think calling her names and losing your temper is going to change her mind,” Harry said. “And she hasn’t told me anything. I told her not to, actually.”

“It would be easier,” Draco said, quietly. “It would have been easier.”

“Yes, but it would have been wrong,” Harry said, and they sat there in silence a few minutes longer.

“Lethe took – forever to settle, d’you remember?” he said. “I think I was fifteen. Snape was the only person who said it didn’t matter. My parents had been pushing and pushing, see this specialist, see that one.”

He reached out to take a flower, pulling off its petals one by one. “Then one day, I was looking at something, and I just… knew.” He laughed. “Pansy, actually. I was looking at one of the Ravenclaw boys with Pansy. I can’t even remember which one. They were flirting in the library. And I thought, my god, she’s beautiful, and I thought, if I wanted, I could have her for myself, you know, I thought about –

“Well, all the things you think about if you’re a fifteen year old boy imagining a girl naked in your bed, and then I realized that it wasn’t anything I wanted at all. At least not that part of it.”

He smiled, fondly. “I was really happy, you know? There were two months before the end of term, and Lethe had picked something that felt like finally being comfortable in my own skin. I told Snape, you know.” He laughed, hollowly. “I know you didn’t think very much of him, but he was kind to me.”

“He was better than I gave him credit for,” Harry said, softly.

“So then I went home,” Draco continued. “My parents were so happy that she was something respectable. Like maybe I’d turned out all right after all. But I told…“ He swallowed. “I told my father. And he backhanded me into a door. I don’t even remember everything he said.”

“Oh, I do,” Lethe said, quietly, without lifting her muzzle. “Someday, he will be dead, and I will be glad.”

“He said it was too bad, what I wanted, what I _thought_ I wanted, that purebloods didn’t take to that sort of thing. That I’d been mistaken, that he’d been too soft on me, that I’d get married and have children just like every other Malfoy. And if I couldn’t put it aside for the sake of the family, then I’d better keep my blood traitor mouth shut.”

“Well,” Harry said, watching Draco pick the petals off a second flower. “I think I’m with Lethe on this one.”

“Pansy and I were friends, you know, and she figured it out.” He shook his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew with you, really. It was some of the same things. The portraits never flirted. Lethe ought to have been acting differently with Kit. With _someone’s_ daemon, at least.” He laughed again, to himself. “She said she knew because I was the only boy who never tried to pull anything with her when we got drunk. I tried to tell her that I was the perfect gentleman, and I think she nearly laughed herself sick. She said she’d never met a Malfoy who didn’t know how to get exactly what he wanted.”

“So you drew up a contract with Pansy,” Harry said, slowly.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “It’s air-tight, I had my father’s solicitor do it and paid him off not to say anything until it was said and done. I’m still rather proud of that one, actually.”

“It makes sense for you,” Harry pointed out. “But what about her?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, finally. “Honestly. It secured her social station, I’ll inherit a hell of a lot more than she will, but she’s never cared much about money. She’s not secretly in love with me and hoping I’ll come around or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking. There’s, ah, a very broad infidelity clause, she can be with anyone she likes so long as they won’t talk about it after. She has, sometimes. But not very often.”

“I think,” Harry said, slowly. “I think maybe you don’t know any better about families than I do. I think you two went and made one. A better one, really. A Slytherin one. What it’s supposed to be about, not all that pureblood nonsense.”

Draco finally lifted his head and laughed again, softly. “Were you throwing our motto at me, back there in the tunnel? ‘Loyalty above all else’?”

“Yes,” Harry said, closing his eyes for a moment. “You were mad she didn’t tell you about me. Which suggests you’d have wanted to know.”

“I’d lie, but you’d see through it,” Draco said, laughing softly. “God, you were so awful at sixteen. All pissed off and awful and sulky and your _temper_ ,Potter.”

“Look,” Harry said, dryly. “I was getting a little tired of having to vanquish the Dark Lord every year, all right? And if you’re talking about that spring, well… bad things happened. Really bad things. And then I had to go back to my muggle aunt and uncle’s and get locked in this tiny room, and it was rubbish. Total rubbish, really.”

“Actually, he’s lying,” Thaxia said. “Your daemon’s your soul, you know. Harry’s is very snide and volatile.”

Draco laughed. “So what you’re saying is, I have really bad taste.”

“No, I happen to think you have excellent taste,” Thaxia said. “Though I also happen to think we’ve improved with age, really.” She groomed a paw carefully. “Sixteen was not our best year.”

“But then you barely saw me,” Harry protested, connecting the dots. “I wasn’t _here_ seventh year.”

Draco laughed. “That’s not true, actually, I see you every summer in Diagon Alley.”

“Oh, well,” Harry said. “There you go. Once a year. It’s practically like we mail holiday cards.”

“You’re very attractive,” Draco said. “It’s quite difficult to resist.”

He shook his head after a moment. “No, no,” he said. “It’s not as if I’ve been pining. But there are some things you just sort of know, all right? You and me… I just sort of knew.”

Harry smiled. “Well, you don’t seem to have been wrong.”

“One very frantic, death-defying, daemon touching kiss does not prove my point,” Draco said. “Though it was a pretty good kiss.”

“It was a great kiss, actually,” Harry said.

“What does this place smell like, for you?” Draco said, finally. “The flowers.”

Harry blinked. “That’s rather left field.”

“Just answer it,” Draco said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “The fields of clover at the Burrow. Hermione’s shampoo. Motor oil. Salt water.” He considered. “Pansy, I think it’s perfume. And dirt, freshly turned dirt, like the greenhouses.” He smiled. “That’s you, probably. If you’re asking, it smells like home.”

“It’s funny,” Draco said. “When I found this place, I’d come every month. Just for a few hours. And at first I thought it was the smell of the flowers, but then I read up on them, and they’re supposed to smell like they smell for you. Like things you love. But it was just this stupid, maddening, singular scent. I had no idea what it was, honestly. And then you came to dinner that first night –“

Draco laughed, closing his eyes. “Your exceedingly stupid, overly spicy cologne. It was your cologne.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Hermione buys it for me at Christmas. _I_ don’t even know what it is. I suppose I could change it.”

Draco laughed again, and Harry realized they’d slid down, lying to look up at the flowers drifting around the arbor. “I think it would be too much of a shock to the system, really,” Draco said. “I don’t know what I’d do if this place smelled like something else.”

“So really,” Harry said, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’ve probably got two choices.”

“Okay,” Draco said. His eyes were half closed, but he kept glancing at Harry’s mouth. “Hit me.”

“I suppose there’s the Gryffindor way and the Slytherin way,” Harry said.

“You can’t expect me to choose without explaining,” Draco murmured. “That’s just dirty pool. What if I don’t like either?”

“The Gryffindor way,” Harry said. “Means I tell you I like you. And then I ask you to Hogsmeade. And then I fall in love with you, though if we’re being Gryffindors, I’ve got to be honest, I’m half way there already, and then we tell everyone who isn’t Pansy to sod off and mind their own business, because Gryffindors get very prickly if anyone tries to interfere with their lives, and I’d probably write several very obscene letters to your father about how very stupid he was if he so much as mentions it. Pansy can help.”

Harry slid his hand across to Draco’s chest and felt his breath catch.

“Okay,” Draco said. “Suppose it’s the other.”

“I kiss you,” Harry said, simply. “And I quote your family seal at you, and I tell you I love you, that I’m falling in love with you, and we see where things go.” He smiled. “And we don’t tell anyone anything we don’t want to, and Pansy’s ours, and maybe we can contemplate the fact that you can be bound to more than one person. Down the road.” He leaned in a little closer. “Though the letters to your father clause applies in both scenarios. Thaxia will probably dictate if we take the Gryffindor route, and I’ll write them myself if we go Slytherin.”

“Well,” Draco said, tilting his head back to where his arms were folded above his head. “As much as I like you, you know I’m rather fond of my house.”

“Should have known,” Harry said, sliding a hand up to cup his jaw.

“You really wouldn’t mind,” Draco said, softly. “Not telling the whole world.”

“No,” Harry said, just as softly. “Honestly, my whole life has been telling the whole world. The whole world is highly overrated. My friends, my family, anyone you want to know, yeah. I’m not hiding anything. I won’t do that. But there’s a difference between not hiding things and not telling everyone where to look.”

“I don’t want to lose this,” Draco said, quietly. “This version of us where we’re friends.”

Harry laughed. “I think that’s rather the point, Draco,” he said, gently. “You take what you have and you build on it. You don’t let me get away with shirking Potions, but we reserve the right to kiss each other silly while they’re brewing.”

“This is why you’re terrible at Potions,” Draco murmured. “Prone to distraction. Who kisses while you’re making Potions?”

“Us,” Harry said, laughing, and pulled him up for a long, warm kiss. It took a moment, but Draco finally pulled him down and kissed him back hungrily, until Harry could barely think.

“I think I promised something about loyalty,” Harry said, finally breaking for air. “And, um, to tell you that you drive me crazy and I want to kill you a quarter of the time but you’re family and I sort of love you and –“ He leaned in for another kiss. “Something about contracts.”

“God, I think you might be terrible at this,” Draco said, but he sounded a little giddy.

“Very,” Harry said. “But I’m good at the kissing part.”

“Oh, all right,” Draco said, tugging him down again. “Though –“ He flushed. “I haven’t been _pining_ , all right, but it’s a little hard to get away with sneaking off to Hogsmeade if you’re determined not to let on that you’re gay.”

“Draco,” Harry said, fondly. “There’s basically nothing you could say that would make me care about you less. Though I’m going to have to admit that the alternative isn’t true.”

“What?” Draco said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Potter, that’s an awfully ambiguous statement.”

Harry grinned. “Just so you know, Ron’s in your living room, cuddling Pansy,” and ducked when Draco sat up abruptly.

“ _What_?” he hissed.

Harry grinned. “Come on, you’ll like him once you get to know him,” he said. “Besides. We can’t stay all night. Pansy’s worried. And you owe her an apology.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, I do,” he said. 

“And,” Harry said, leaning in to nip his jaw gently. “You might want to consider that the castle has beds. Several, actually. And I’m pretty sure that whole daemon touching thing isn’t reserved solely for near death situations.”

“Definitely not,” Thaxia said, jumping to Harry’s shoulders, then to Draco’s. He looked both startled and pleased, then a flush crept across his cheeks when Harry’s words sunk in.

“Oh,” Draco said. “I suppose those facts are all valid.”

“It’s a much better view,” she said, defensively, when Harry shot her a look.

“She did warn me,” Draco said, tentatively reaching a hand up to stroke her head, and Harry shivered. “Volatile and impulsive, or something.”

“Let’s keep them,” Thaxia said, smugly. “He’s very smart.”

“They already agreed to that,” Lethe said, dryly. “You were just distracted with my fur.”

“Oh, shut up,” Thaxia said.

“Or you’ll bite me?” Lethe teased. “He’ll like that.”

“You two, no talking about biting,” Draco muttered, climbing to his feet.

“What, do you like that idea?” Harry said, pitching his voice low and laughing.

Draco snorted, cheeks still pink. “You wish, Potter,” he said.

“Quite possibly, yes,” Harry said, and savored it when Draco blushed harder. “I brought my broomstick. But I’m tempted to let you find your own way home.”

“I walked,” Draco said, holding up a hand. “Which I am willing to grant was not the best decision in the history of the universe, but I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Take mine,” Harry decided. “With Thaxia. I’ll walk with Lethe. You won’t be able to get out of range, so it’s not as if we can get into that much trouble. Besides, it’s nearly dawn.”

“He’ll know if you touch me,” Lethe pointed out.

Harry laughed. “For once, I’d like to talk to you on your own. And maybe vice versa.”

“Huh,” Thaxia said. “I forgot about that. That people did that.” She covered her nose with her tail. “Don’t let me get cold,” she warned Draco.

“Of course not,” Draco said, fondly, and when he reached to touch her head again, Harry felt all the warm affection behind it.

“Castle, Pansy, sleep,” Harry said, firmly.

“You think she’ll come around?” Draco said, swallowing.

“Ask Thaxia, actually,” Harry said, with a smile. “It’ll be good for you.”

As it turned out, Pansy didn’t do any yelling at all. When they got back, Hermione was asleep on the sofa, her head pillowed on a book. Ron was tinkering with a clock. Pansy was drowsing between them, but she came fully awake when the portrait frame creaked.

Draco ignored Ron and went to Pansy, kneeling in front of her, and she wrapped her arms around him and burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, pulling her closer, and Ron stood up and came over to Harry.

“Sort of reminds me of Hermione,” he said, fondly, then paused. “Not, you know –“

“Yeah, I get it,” Harry said, with a smile. “Me too.”

“Do you need us to stay?” Ron said, quietly. “Because we’re here, you know we’re here. But I ought to go get the baby.”

“Honestly, I’m okay,” Harry said, squeezing his shoulder. “It was bad, but we’ve had worse.”

“Little weird, you getting into death defying situations without us,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “I’m hoping to do a little less of that, honestly.”

“Please,” Ron said. “I’m getting too old for emergency floo messages from McGonagall, honestly.”

Harry laughed. “Having kids has completely ruined your sense of adventure, mate.”

“Actually, it sort of did,” Ron said, ruefully. “Although at the moment I’d say it’s fifty fifty on whether it’s because I’d like to be around to see them take the Hogwarts Express and grow up and live their lives or because of sheer and total sleep deprivation.”

Harry snorted. “They love the baby,” he said. “They’ll love Rose. Just drop them off for the weekend sometime once this mess is done with. We’ll keep them alive.”

“Just for the record, did you just ask me to let Malfoy babysit my children?” Ron said.

“Yeah, I think I did,” Harry said.

“And to clarify, this would mean an entire weekend of getting to sleep? And Hermione getting to sleep?”

“I think it would, yeah,” Harry said.

“Sold,” Ron said. “I can tell I’m going to like him already. I’m very in favor of this whole new leaf thing.”

Draco and Pansy were still talking in low tones, but she was laughing, cupping his face, and Hermione started to stir. 

“Take her home, okay?” Harry said, and Ron headed around the couch and cleared his throat. 

“Malfoy,” he said.

“Weasley,” Draco said, warily.

“Don’t let anything bad happen to him, all right?” Ron said.

“No,” Draco said, low. “No, I won’t.”

“We won’t,” Pansy corrected, firmly.

“That’s all right, then,” Ron said, slinging an arm underneath Hermione’s shoulders and another under her knees, murmuring a charm to settle her back to sleep.

“Thanks,” Pansy said, looking up at him. “Thank you. For tonight.”

“Any time,” Ron said. “But we’re going to turn into church mice if I don’t get back to London before the sun comes up.”

“Night,” Harry said, holding open the portrait for Ron, and then turned, noticing that Thaxia was still asleep around Draco’s shoulders.

“He’s groveled sufficiently?” he said.

“We both have,” Pansy said.

“Right,” Harry said. “Go shower. I want to talk to Pansy.”

“Five minutes and you’re already kicking me out?” Draco said, dryly, but he stood up, reaching for Thaxia.

“No, take her,” Harry said, with a grin. “Trust me, you don’t want to wake her until there’s an available source of hot water. Taken as advice from every morning for the last thirteen years.”

“I’m awake,” Thaxia said, without opening her eyes. “And I’m going to get to see him naked before you do, so there.”

“Anathaxia,” Harry said, fondly. “Quit torturing Malfoy.”

“Make me,” she said. “Besides, it’s true.”

“Well,” Draco said, cheeks going pink again, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“ _Go_ ,” he said, gently shoving him in the direction of the bath. “I’ll take my turn after you.” 

After he was sure the door was shut and the water was running, he sank down onto the couch next to Pansy, summoning the bottle of firewhiskey and pouring himself a drink.

“That bad?” she hazarded, with a smile. “That good?”

“Somewhere in the middle,” he said. “You two are all right?”

“He’s not wrong that I should have told him,” Pansy said. “Or asked you.” She laughed. “Well, asked you other than by climbing on top of you.”

“Probably a pretty clear indication, really,” Harry mused, taking a long swallow. He turned to look her straight in the face.

“I’m not taking him from you, and I don’t want to,” he said. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, you’ll get it.” He smiled. “Thaxia happens to have a very favourite daemon whose human is rather straight, actually.”

“Nah,” Pansy said. “I mean… if you’re asking me if I’m willing to get naked with Charlie Weasley, thoroughly. If you’re asking me if I’d like to ditch you two for him, no.”

“It’s been a decade,” Harry said,. “I figured… actually, I’ve no idea what I figured, but I thought I should ask and find out what the hell you’re doing here.”

“If sex makes a marriage, I know rather a lot of arranged pureblood ones that are utter rubbish,” Pansy said, finally. “I love him. He’s my family. And I can be anything I want to be, here, you know? Pansy Parkinson didn’t have all that many options.” She smiled into her teacup. “Pansy Malfoy has everything she’s ever wanted. Well, I suppose, she thought she had.”

“Oh?” Harry said.

She shrugged. “I guess the most famous wizard who ever lived isn’t _too_ shoddy of an addition,” she said.

“I will vomit on you,” Harry warned.

“The Boy Who Lived?” she teased. “Savior of the Wizarding World?”

“Really, though,” Harry said. “I’ve been the third one. And I remember… I sulked for weeks, after Ron and Hermione got together. I thought they’d forget about me. Hermione gave me this whole bloody lecture, and I’ll spare you, but the point is, you’re still ours.”

Pansy snorted. “I know that, Potter,” she said, kissing his temple. “Besides. Who do you think’s going to be having all the heirs here, Thaxia?”

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Harry said, then laughed. “Yeah, okay. He’s pretty cute with babies.”

“Let’s just get this whole bloody castle mess squared away with, and then we’ll sort the rest of it,” Pansy said. “But I’m not worried, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Final question, because even Thaxia’s too polite to go poking behind all those doors. Do you sleep in the same bed?”

“Most nights,” Pansy said. “Unless he falls asleep in the greenhouse, in which case, I leave him there and hope he’s eaten by plants. But –“ She hesitated, only for a second. “That could change.”

“No, it can’t,” he said. “I mean it, Pansy. You have to tell both of us what you need. If you’ll recall, I’m about as bad at mind magic as it’s possible to get, so don’t go thinking I’ll pick it out of your brain.”

“Right,” she said, swallowing. “Well. Three requests.”

“Name them,” Harry said, then paused. “Name them and I will seriously consider them.”

Pansy snorted. “Gryffindor.”

“Slytherin,” he said. “You might have made me agree to go to Brazil for a decade or something.”

“No,” Pansy said, with a smile. “You’ve grown on me.” She took another swallow of tea. “I’d rather not sleep alone. And I get my own washroom, because otherwise I find out my bubble bath has turned into some Potions experiment and my cosmetics have been poached to mark off plants.”

“Deal,” Harry said. “But that’s only two.”

She grinned. “Please, _please_ take him somewhere and fuck him stupid, all right? I’ll thank you. Lethe will thank you. I suspect every single one of his students will thank you. He’s too uptight by half. More than half. Three-quarters. Nine-tenths.”

Harry snorted. “From the woman who says sex isn’t particularly important,” he teased.

“Not to me,” she said. “But I think it is to him.”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry said, downing the rest of his glass before he could think too much on the subject. He was exhausted, but it was still a tempting avenue. “If I promise not to transfigure anything into slime, can I use the tub?”

“I’ll make sure you don’t drown,” Kit said, with a yawn. “And that you don’t pick the horrific rose petal one.”

“The spigots _are_ marked,” Pansy pointed out. “It’s not my fault Draco doesn’t pay any attention while he’s ruining things.”

“Yes, and I can read exceptionally well without my glasses,” Harry remarked.

“Come on, before we all fall over,” Kit said, nudging him.

It turned out that Pansy and Draco’s bed was more than big enough for a third person, if Lethe and Kit conceded to sleep at the foot, and Harry would have thought about it further, how nice it was to have Draco tucked against his back, Pansy’s leg flung over them, but he was asleep before he could bother.

Harry woke up around dinner to Thaxia nudging him about the living room floo, and he pulled on what he suspected was Draco’s bathrobe and went to answer it before it could wake anyone else.

To her credit, McGonagall didn’t bat an eyelash at him. “Ms. Granger-Weasley, Mister Weasley, Ms. Delacour, and I have settled on a course of action,” she said. “But I’m afraid Professor Malfoy and the Slytherins aren’t going to like it very much.”

“All right,” Harry said, warily.

“It’s necessary,” McGonagall said. “The wards have gotten thinner, and with the new moon…” Her mouth was a thin line. “I suppose Hermione will explain.”

“Harry, we can’t let this go any longer,” Hermione said, softly. “We put patrols on the tunnels, and today was bad. Bill found a lethifold, they’re not even supposed to be here. And the Head Boy and Bellweather killed about a hundred acromantula hatchlings. Not to mention that we’ve found empty graves in the south graveyard, and there’s something in one of your traps that no one can identify. The venom liquefied it.”

“Fuck,” Harry said, softly.

“But Fleur thought of something,” Hermione said, sounding resolute. “We think we can fix the wards. Tonight.”

“But?” Harry said, because he had a sinking suspicion there was no way Hermione and McGonagall would look so grim if there wasn’t a serious catch.

“Well, there’s a caveat,” Hermione said, grimly. “We still don’t have enough of Ravenclaw’s blood. I’ve tested the students, the professors, the blood bank… Harry, I even went through the historic samples that we’d never be able to get consent for. There simply isn’t enough to tip the balance of power away from Slytherin.”

“So we can’t fix it,” Harry said, grimly.

“Well,” Hermione said. “We can’t fix the amount of Ravenclaw blood we have. But we can even the score on the castle.”

“How?” Harry said.

“We have to trick Hogwarts, Harry,” she said, a little sadly. “The only way to do it is to make it seem like Slytherin’s section of the castle is far worse off than it is. We’ve got to do nearly the damage to it that was done to Ravenclaw. We’re going to have to destroy the dungeons.”

“ _Destroy_ them?” Harry repeated, dully.

“Pull down enough of the exterior wall to flood all the tunnels and dungeons, including the Slytherin chambers and the Potions wing,” Hermione said. “The Chamber of Secrets too. And we’ve got to rip the wards there to pieces. It won’t be safe.” 

“And there’s no other way?” Harry said. 

“We’ll find enough blood,” Hermione said, tiredly. “But it could take months, a year, maybe longer. It’s not forever, I suppose. They can be rebuilt, someday, like the tower. But for now, it’s our only decent option.”

“Right,” Harry said. “You’ll have to – buy us a little time. To move the Potions ingredients. Evacuate the students.”

Hermione shook her head, smiling. “It’s all nearly been done,” she said. “Anything of importance has been moved. The Slytherins are in the Astronomy Tower for now. McGonagall’s going to figure out a more permanent solution as soon as we’re done. The only thing left to do is move out the Malfoys.” She glanced at him. “We’ve moved you near Gryffindor tower, it’s cramped but it’ll do. And there’s room for them in the Defense Tower. We’ll just send their furniture and it’ll be done.”

“Right,” Harry said, hollowly, with a sudden awareness that he’d be much further than a hallway away from Draco and Pansy. “I suppose I’d better tell them.”

“Fleur’s built the model,” Hermione said. “I’m going to go collect the blood, and then we’ll need you in the Headmistress’ office. Bill and Ron will start tearing down the wall and the wards once you’re out.”

“All right,” Harry said, finally.

As expected, neither Draco nor Pansy took the news particularly well.

“It’s all well and good for you to say it,” Pansy said, near tears. “But it’s not as if it’s Gryffindor Tower. It’s not _yours_.” Kit was pacing behind her, growling under his breath.

“You don’t get it,” Draco said, quietly. “Most of the Gryffindors go home for the holidays. They’ve got people. But the Slytherins, these days… they don’t. You won. We’ve got more orphans than any other house, and this _is_ their home. And you’ve just put them in the Astronomy Tower? As if that’s some sort of solution, as if they’re just movable pieces?”

“I know,” Harry said, fighting exhaustion. “I know. But there’s nothing else. And maybe we can rebuild. But it’s not safe.”

Pansy turned, finally, and straightened her robes. “I know,” she said, simply. “But it’s our home.”

“It’s not,” Harry said, softly. “It’s brick and mortar. Those children are what matters. I – that was me. A war orphan. And I would tear down Gryffindor Tower with my bare hands if it meant just one Gryffindor student stayed safe. Just one _student_ stayed safe.”

“You’re right, of course,” Pansy said. “But I’ve got to go to them – I’m their Head of House, I’ve no idea why no one woke me, I’ve –“

“No,” Draco said, finally, gently, grabbing her wrists. “You go with Harry. I’ll go to the students.”

“Head of House,” Pansy said, sounding a little frantic.

“And, to be brutally honest, a far more powerful witch,” Draco said. “My magic’s not in casting. So go. Do it. And the sun will come up tomorrow, and we’ll all be tired as hell and they’ll probably want to kill one another from sleeping on the floor, but there won’t be any more _things_ coming in through the tunnels to try to kill them. There’s been more than enough of that.”

In the end, it was both harder and easier than Harry had imagined. The stewards moved all of Pansy and Draco’s things to what was supposedly a near duplicate of their rooms on the other side of the castle. “I’ll see you after,” Draco said, Lethe following him toward the tower. “Don’t let them explode my greenhouses, please.”

“Not a chance,” Harry said, with a tired smile.

There was already a group of people in McGonagall’s office when Harry and Pansy arrived, and a moment later, Bill and Ron followed, looking exhausted and soaked.

“Fleur’s brought the model,” Hermione said, gesturing to a perfect replica set out on the table. She set a crystal decanter on the table next to it, pulling out a flask of blood from her bag and unsealing it. “Two from each house, I think.”

Two professors took Hufflepuff, Penelope Clearwater – surprisingly enough – and the Head Boy took Ravenclaw, and then Pansy stepped forward for Slytherin and Harry felt himself stepping in beside her. “I think I’m here tonight,” he said, quietly.

“Quite so,” McGonagall said, and stepped up to the table beside Hermione, her daemon at her feet.

“Thank god for advanced Potions,” Hermione quipped, “I can cast and pour,” but no one really laughed. 

“There’s no spell,” Bill said. “Just feel it out. It’s going to pull your magic wide open, so if anyone can’t handle it, step back, and someone will step in for you.” He paused. “Hermione?”

“We all know the castle,” she said, softly. “Think of it like walking in the dark. Feel for rough edges and smooth them over. Shut any open doors and windows. Seal any cracks.”

“It’s easier if you shut your eyes,” Pansy said. Harry found her hand under the table and gripped it tightly as Hermione began to pour, closing his eyes.

It was, he found, a little like sleep walking, if the castle was calling him in a hundred directions in his sleep. Hermione had mentioned walking the halls, but Harry saw snitches, hundreds of snitches, and floating, perfect orbs. He grabbed the one in front of him and it crumbled to dust in his fingers, and Harry knew suddenly that there had been a tiny hole in a keystone of the main gate. Some were easier to catch than others, and Harry figured that these probably weren’t his alone. A snitch disappeared above him, caught by an invisible hand. He thought hard and summoned a broomstick, until he could grab and grab – the whole Chamber of Secrets, a book in the library, a chipped window in the Hufflepuff girls’ lavatory. Some took a lot out of him, and by the end, Harry was tired, so tired, but there was one more, near the ceiling, and he felt the staircase to the dungeons disappear beneath his fingertips and woke up.

Fleur had replaced the Head Boy, and Lisse’s cat daemon looked a bit faint, but the model was glowing, pulsing bright, and the nagging feeling of unease that had been hovering beneath Harry’s skin was gone. The sconces showed a little brighter. Hermione examined the decanter for a moment, sealing it, and then handed it to McGonagall, who sent it… to nowhere, with a flick of her wrist.

“Most excellent work, everyone,” she said, but she sounded tired herself. “I believe that will be all that is required of us tonight.”

It took a moment, but Hermione found Pansy, grabbing her wrist. “We’ll keep working,” she said, fiercely. “I promise.”

“Actually,” Pansy said, with a smile. “I think it’s all right. I’ll be glad to have them back, but for now, I think I’d just like a stiff drink and my bed. Wherever it’s gotten to.”

“It’s been a hell of a few days,” Thaxia said.

“Goodnight, Harry, Thaxia,” Hermione said, with a kiss to his cheek. “Pansy. Kitcaron.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said, softly. “For keeping them safe.”

“Always,” Hermione said.

“I’ll walk you back,” Harry said. Pansy and Draco’s rooms weren’t hard to find, at least, but Harry sighed. The bedroom was smaller, and someone had decided to shrink the bed, and there was only one washroom.

“You two should have in here,” Pansy said. “You’ve hardly had a moment. I can take your rooms, or the couch, or –“ 

“Absolutely not,” Harry said. “It’s been a bad enough day without me stealing your bed out from under you.”

“You can’t just unilaterally decide,” Pansy protested. “He gets a say. I get a say.”

Harry sighed. “Pansy, I can’t,” he said, gently. “There will be twenty Ravenclaws outside that door tomorrow morning going to Transfiguration, and I have no idea how Draco feels about that. I haven’t had a chance to ask him.”

“We could sleep in the Room of Requirement,” Pansy said, a little desperately, and Harry laughed, pulling her in for a hug.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning,” Harry said. “Kiss him goodnight for me when he gets back.”

“I’d rather hope not,” Pansy managed, with a smile. “But a hug, I can manage.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry said. “And on the bright side, we can be reasonably certain that nothing’s going to eat anyone in the night.”

“Thank god for small mercies,” Pansy said. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“I don’t like it,” Thaxia said, instantly, when they entered his new rooms, and Harry thought it was a little ironic, really – if he’d been given them when he’d first been sent to the castle, he’d have been over the moon.

It was small, but there was a Lion Rampant banner hung over the fireplace, an overstuffed bed, and a window looking out onto the Quidditch pitch.

“Kind of awful, actually,” Harry agreed.

He tossed and turned all night, Thaxia waking up at least a dozen times, and Harry finally gave up and got dressed when he heard the first breakfast bell. “I’ll think of something,” he told her. “Really, I will.”

“You’d better,” she said. “I think Malfoy’s going to murder you otherwise.”

When Harry caught sight of McGonagall at the head table, something finally occurred to him.

“Where are we keeping all the Potions ingredients and the classroom?” Harry said. “Er, morning.”

“I was hoping Professor Malfoy would have some idea of where he wanted them,” McGonagall said, tiredly. “They’re in a classroom for now. One with no windows, at least. But I don’t think anything can be brewed there.” She sighed. “I’ll add it to my list, Professor Potter. But I’ve just lost nearly a quarter of the castle, finding a classroom in the next few days is rather low on my list.”

“I’ve got an idea, actually,” he said. “If I could maybe borrow Martingale and some of the NEWT students for a few hours?”

“Of course,” McGonagall said, sounding a little surprised.

“I’ll sit down and explain,” Harry said.

“By all means,” McGonagall said, sounding amused. “If it means solving that particular problem, then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

“More than one of them, actually,” Harry said, and pulled up a chair.

Once the second rush of students going to breakfast had passed, Harry crept into Pansy and Draco’s rooms. When Thaxia reassured him that they were both still thoroughly asleep, he woke Kit and then Lethe, letting Thaxia explain so quietly he couldn’t even hear her. They bought agreed to the dreaming draught with no hesitation, and before she went under, Lethe tipped her head against Harry’s hand. “He wasn’t happy not to see you last night,” she murmured. “So make it better.”

“I’m working on it,” Harry said, gently, and laid her down to sleep.

The Herbology Tower had largely been neglected since the war; Harry strongly suspected Draco preferred the greenhouses. If Harry was honest, he probably wouldn’t have known that it was there at all if he hadn’t been getting shipments of creatures sent around the side of the castle. The ground floor was large enough to fit the Potions classroom, with a few easily blocked off windows. Better still, it had a root cellar that wasn’t connected to anything else. Harry found a few bags of utterly ordinary potatoes and several empty portrait frames, but nothing of any real importance. Martingale was happy enough to assign enlarging it to his best Transfiguration student, a Gryffindor witch whose NEWT preparation work centered on historic buildings, and by the time she was finished, even Harry had to admit that it was better than the former arrangement. He set the seventh years to bringing the Potions stores over - _carefully_ \- and explained what he wanted to Martingale.

“All right, but you’ll owe me a drink next Hogsmeade weekend,” Martingale said, with a snort. “That’s an awful lot of stonework for one evening.”

“I’m sleeping in a broom closet,” Harry said, flatly. “A very red and gold broom closet.”

“Enough said,” Martingale said, but he and – to Harry’s surprise – most of the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins stayed to work.

“The way we see it, we owe you for everything you’ve done the other night,” one Gryffindor he hadn’t met before told him, holding out a hand. “Ta, Professor Potter.”

“In Dr. Malfoy’s class, are you?” Harry said, and the boy laughed.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “And it’s cancelled again this afternoon, so we’ll all come help out when we can.” He shrugged. “Some of us aren’t any good at moving stones around, but we’ll help you levitate your things back here since you gave your home up to keep out the nasties down below.”

“What about you?” Harry said, and he was surprised to hear McGonagall answer.

“Surprisingly, Professor Martingale and Dr. Malfoy’s advanced classes seem to have talked the Gryffindors into sharing Gryffindor Tower for the remainder of the term,” McGonagall replied. “The castle has obligingly provided additional beds and space.”

“Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Harry said, blankly.

“We’re calling it Yule Tower for now,” King said, with a grin. “And if anyone complains, they can take it up with _our_ Head Girl.”

Who, Harry recalled, was most certainly a Slytherin. “That’s very generous of you,” he said.

King shook his head. “It’s just decent, is all,” he said. “Ravenclaw’s too full, they don’t want to bunk up with the Hufflepuffs, no offense to ‘em, and they just lost their dungeons to some spooks and critters.” He shrugged. “Plus, a lot of us are paired up for classes anyhow, we thought it’d help with studying for midterms.”

“Well,” Harry said. “A hundred points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin houses for their –“ He looked upward. “Dedication to overcoming past differences. And a strong hint that the Potions final this term will involve medium to difficult level medical potions, so I’d study up with Hare and Burke’s text.”

“I’ll pass it along, Professor,” he said. “Though I don’t suppose –“

“I haven’t the faintest clue what Dr. Malfoy’s planning,” Harry said, dryly. “But in the interest of fairness, I’ll suggest at the next faculty meeting that each NEWT course containing both Gryffindors and Slytherins be advised of a particularly useful text. Mine will be Waterborough’s Treatise on African Magical Species, for the record.”

“Brilliant!” King said, beaming, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d best get back to helping.”

“Nicely done, Professor Potter,” McGonagall murmured. “Though I’m rather interested to know the location of the Malfoys.”

“I thought they could use some rest,” Harry said, straight faced.

“Do you know, I rather think I shall ensure that I’m not in my office tonight,” McGonagall said, cheerfully. “But I suppose I may as well help Martingale in the meanwhile. I do so rarely get to do anything _practical_ these days.”

Harry simply watched from a balcony, and then, when everything was nearly finished, went to get his broomstick.

It was amazing what you could finish with a large number of wizards in a surprisingly short period of time, Harry mused, heading toward the Defense Tower an hour or two later.

“I suppose we ought to have found out how much Slytherins like surprises,” Thaxia mused, after she and Harry had gone through the cramped sitting room.

“I suspect not in the least,” Harry said, watching Draco and Pansy sleep. “But we needed somewhere new to live, and even Gryffindors know when to take advantage of particularly obvious opportunities.”

“They hated leaving the dungeons,” Thaxia said.

“So did I,” Harry said, honestly.

“We could have stayed,” Thaxia pointed out. “I mean – come back. Or fit in here, somehow.”

“I vaguely recall what living in a tent with Ron and Hermione was like, and none of us were trying to get laid,” Harry said, then amended. “Well, all right, Ron and Hermione were still trying to murder each other, so it wasn’t an issue.” 

“Right then,” Thaxia said, and nipped Kit’s ear.

Pansy sat up, blinking, and then rubbed her eyes. Draco muttered something and woke up a moment later, and then Harry found himself very suddenly facing two wands.

“Hold on,” he said.

“Potter, the only thing in my horrifically small bedroom is a bed,” Pansy said.

“It’s _dark_ outside,” Draco said.

“Yes, and yes,” Harry said. “If we could just, you know, wands down –“

“Hold on, I know that aftertaste,” Pansy said, and then sat even further upright, glaring. “Potter, that’s mint. I did _not_ take a dreaming draught.”

“Well,” Kit interjected.

“Potter, there is no liquor cabinet, and my wardrobe is literally not present, when someone had stuffed it in here last night,” Draco said, slowly. “If an explanation is not forthcoming in under ten seconds, I am not going to be pleased.”

“Oh my god, you drugged me and _took all my things_ ,” Pansy said, outraged. “What is this, some sort of Gryffindor joke?”

Harry couldn’t help it, really – he dissolved into laughter.

“You almost sound like you’ve grown attached to this place,” Thaxia said, between giggles. Lethe and Kit were in on it a moment later, laughing too.

“We took the potion,” Lethe said, nudging Draco’s wand down with her muzzle. “We agreed with him. You needed rest. And he’s agreed to take one tonight if you want, so fair trade.”

“This really doesn’t explain my lack of clothes,” Pansy said, then looked behind him into the sitting room, which was barren. “ _Potter_ -“

“Pansy, I moved it,” Harry said, finally, wiping his eyes. “It’s all safe and sound. We just have a new sitting room. That’s not… here.”

“I liked the dungeons,” Draco said.

“Yes, and god knows how long it’s going to take Hermione to fix them,” Harry said. “Come on. I left clothes for you to get dressed. You can come see.” 

“Oh, lovely, a surprise,” Pansy said, tugging on a jumper. “Potter, where on earth did you get the idea I liked surprises?”

“I didn’t, actually,” Harry said, dryly. “But I knew you’d say no, so I went ahead and did it anyway.”

“That’s the most illogical statement I’ve ever heard,” Draco muttered.

“You picked them, you know,” Thaxia pointed out. “It had to be Slytherins.”

Pansy and Draco followed Harry through the castle, complaining to another most of the way, and Harry finally stopped and turned at the doors to the tower.

“Look,” he said. “You can like it. You can hate it. We can move everything back once Hermione’s figured out the bloody wards. But we needed somewhere to live, and I wasn’t particularly keen on finding something with a white picket fence in Hogsmeade or on sleeping across the castle from one another, so I found something _here_ , and everyone pitched in because they care about you. So… I don’t know, pretend like it’s Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Draco said, still sounding a little suspicious, and then followed Harry into the Potions lab.

“All right,” Draco said, grudgingly. “It’s not awful.” He ran his hand over a new workbench, transfigured by one of the students. “Though I fail to see how a new Potions lab is Christmas.”

“Go downstairs,” Harry said, gesturing to a small door. “That’s part of it.”

He listened to Draco descend. “You’d better not have touched a piece of this, Potter,” he called up.

“Only the actually proficient seventh years,” Harry promised. “There’s a new index system. And inventory to warn you when we’re low. And it’s all much better, really, it’s got climate control spells and –“

“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” Draco called.

“Well, come upstairs when you’re ready,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, and found Pansy staring at him.

“Potions stores?” she said. “But –“ 

“There’s plenty more tower,” Harry said, murmuring the password to the portrait and tugging her up a winding set of stairs. Martingale had put a hundred feet of stone and every ward he could think of between the sections, given the general propensity for exploding potions, so the climb took a minute. “This part is… well, ours, but a bit more for you,” Harry murmured. “Washroom, Whitmore and Franklin assured me everything was perfect, I wasn’t sure what to put in for the bath.” He laughed. “I figure seventh year Slytherin girls know what women like. And the taps are keyed to you, actually, so Draco can’t mess anything up. There’s a less fancy one next door, _and_ you’ve got a powder room.” 

Pansy blinked, several times, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether her silence meant approval or not, but Kit nudged open another door. “I put in two bedrooms down here,” he said. “Well. Sort of. I had to add something for myself.” The walls of the first room were glass, and behind it he’d moved the pearl millet sharks and some of the other marine animals and fish they’d needed for Potions ingredients. It wasn’t quite the same as the dungeons, but it had the same dim, filtered light, and a large bed, and most of his books on shelves on the back wall.

“Oh,” Pansy said, startled.

“We’ll all fit,” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe. “Or one of us. Or two of us. Or none of us. And the one next door is exactly the same, except it’s got birds and Defense books.” He grinned. “I have it on rather good authority your daemon likes them, and anyway, my aviary for everything from Australia wasn’t big enough.”

“See,” Kit said, winding around her legs.

“Potter, did you build this as some strange sort of courting present?” Pansy said, faintly.

“Well, we love you,” Thaxia said. “But come on. Upstairs is better.”

“There’s another floor to this?” Pansy murmured.

“Well, it’s not as if we can torture Draco with Gryffindors without a sitting room,” he pointed out.

He’d moved over their things, plus things he’d found in storage that seemed _right_ , and the Room of Requirement had chipped in a few more pieces of furniture and a large, soft rug. Harry had already set the fire in the hearth, and he lit it with a flick of his wrist, dim light glowing on the photos on the mantle. “Most of those are mine,” he admitted. “But I poached a few from McGonagall. And your office.”

“Oh,” Pansy said.

“Still not the best bit,” Thaxia said, beaming, and ran up a twisting branch to hop onto a bookcase, tapping on a book. 

“I did this part,” Harry said, laughing. “Draco’s supposed to be growing plants in here. Which, well, I suppose he is.”

“This is Christmas,” Thaxia said, firmly.

Harry had made the bed enormous, big enough for even the daemons if they wanted, and he’d covered the cold stone floors with furs around the bed. It was deep and warm, with plenty of blankets, and Harry had – with a significant amount of help from two of the Transfigurations students – turned nearly a quarter of the tower’s stone into transparent glass. The view covered the greenhouses and looked out over the lake, reflecting all the starlight back, and he’d carefully built a planter around the outside of the bed and planted Draco’s vines. They weren’t blooming yet, but they’d found their way up the posts of the bed and around the canopy already.

“Potter, if you wanted habitats in your new rooms, you could have just _asked_ ,” Draco said, still sounding a little irritable, and then he came up into the sitting room and stared. Pansy had pressed a hand to the back of her mouth.

“They’re not his rooms, they’re ours,” she said, softly. “All of this, it’s ours.”

“The best part is,” Harry said, laughing, “no one bothered with this tower at all during the war, and it was part of Hufflepuff’s section of the castle, so the wards are perfectly intact even if something breaks again. Nothing can get in here we don’t want to.”

“Christmas,” Thaxia said, again, gleefully bounding into the bed, and Kit followed her a moment later, rolling into the blankets.

“Do you mean it?” Pansy said. “We’re to live here?”

“Technically, this is a greenhouse, I’ve got a bedroom, and you two have a bedroom, unless Draco elects to tell someone otherwise,” Harry said, with a smile. “But yeah. I thought expanding might be prudent.”

“Oh, Harry,” Pansy said, and Thaxia stuck her head up out of the bed, looking at her severely.

“You cried five times yesterday and the day before,” she said. “You’re far over your limit, so don’t start again.” She sighed. “Honestly, I think you might be worse than Hermione, and she cries at _everything_.”

“Killjoy,” Kit muttered, laughing, and rolled further. “Now she’ll do it just to spite you.”

“I’m probably just allergic to whatever that is,” Pansy said, laughing, and wiped the back of her hand across her face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you for stealing my things.”

“Just rearranging,” Harry corrected, and then looked at Draco, who was still staring, leaning against Lethe.

“Draco?” Pansy said, finally, after another long minute.

“You meant it,” he said, finally. “About… having it however I wanted. The Slytherin thing.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t,” Harry pointed out.

“So you –“ Draco said, taking a long breath. “You meant the rest of it. Too.”

“Yes,” Harry said, simply.

“And Pansy –“

“What, did you think I was going to make getting rid of Pansy a condition of being with you?” Harry said, joking, and then realized that Draco’s stare hadn’t changed.

“You’re really an idiot,” he said, fondly, and took a step forward to wrap an arm around Draco’s waist, drawing him in.

“I don’t usually get what I want,” Draco said, softly. “And when people give me things, they usually want something in return.”

“Well, I do,” Harry said, laughing. “I’m rather hoping neither of you will hex me in my sleep tonight, and that we can live here together, and possibly keep living here together once someone fixes the dungeons, because I’d like to be _together_. All right?”

“You are really terrible at Christmas,” Thaxia informed Draco, hopping from the bed onto his shoulders, then nuzzling his cheek. “But that’s all right. We weren’t very good at it for a long time, either.”

“Well, now Harry’s broken both of you,” Kit said. “See what you get for playing with lions? They go and get ideas, and they keep their promises, and they’re loyal back.”

“I’d noticed,” Pansy managed, laughing softly, and stepped to wrap an arm around Draco too. “I really had.”

“See?” she said.

“Yes,” Draco said. “All right. Fifty galleons to you.”

“Do I even want to know?” Harry said. 

Pansy laughed. “We made a bet when McGonagall told us you’d been hired that he’d decide he liked you.” 

“I’m a little insulted it took this long,” Harry said, with a snort. “If only I’d known a giant bed would win you over, I could have transfigured something ages ago.”

“Not like that,” Pansy said. “Slytherin like you. Want to keep you around like you. ‘Loyalty above all’ like you.”

“You mean, you know, Ron and Hermione like me,” Harry said, dryly.

“Ugh,” Draco said. “ _No_. You’re going to have to learn to speak Slytherin.”

“Oh, did I mention,” Harry said, laughing. “Apparently all the Slytherins and Gryffindors are bunking together until McGonagall figures something out.”

“Oh god,” Pansy said, faintly. “Ravenclaw’s going to win the House Cup for sure.”

“I’m not so sure, actually,” Harry mused. “They _asked_ if they could do it. Apparently Pansy and Martingale’s seventh years talked everyone else into it.”

“It’s a ploy,” Draco said, instantly. “I’m not sure what they’re angling for, yet, but we’re utterly screwed.”

“The tower’s all decorated in Christmas colors,” Thaxia said. “You know, because it’s _Christmas_ , which some people are spending far too much time talking about and far too little time enjoying.”

“You’re right, actually, Thaxia,” Pansy said, tugging on her coat. “But if we’re all living here, Potter can’t do _all_ the decorating. It has to be Christmas for everyone. I’m going to go look through storage and check my office. And actually, I ought to talk to the library about getting my book exchange slot moved in here, though that took ages to set up last time. I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”

“Really?” Kit said. “You’re taking me away from the new bed?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, giving him a sidelong look.

“Oh,” Kit said. “Right. Yes, the office.”

“Just for the record, I attempted to be subtle and Kit utterly ruined it,” Pansy said, with a sigh.

“It really wasn’t all that subtle,” Harry said, dryly, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I’ve really no intention of trying in the future, so don’t get used to it,” Pansy said, laughing. “We have too many rooms. Do whatever you please.”

“I’m only sort of following this, and I’m not sure I like it,” Draco said, warily.

“You’ve had all of thirty seconds alone with Harry since the other night,” Pansy said, fondly, tugging him into a hug. “Talk. Do things that don’t involve talking. I don’t really care, but I’m leaving for a bit. Because I _want_ to go do the things I mentioned. In the future, I’m not leaving, so if you want privacy, you’ll just have to shut doors.”

“Right,” Draco said. “That.”

Harry laughed. “Bye, Pansy,” he said, as she tugged on her coat and headed down the stairs.

“You can relax, you know,” Hary said, gesturing at him, and went to rummage in the alcohol cabinet. “It’s just me.” 

Draco laughed, softly. “It’s a bit of a different ‘just you’ than before, and honestly, I’m not sure it’s caught up with me yet.”

“It’s really not,” Harry said,sincerely. “If I open the red, Pansy will probably take some when she gets back. You want a glass?”

“Yeah, okay,” Draco said. “Is it – “ He paused, then shook his head, pressing his thumbs to the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t find this whole thing strange. I ought to be over the moon.”

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said, fondly. “You’re too smart for your own good. You never stop thinking.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask you to get me to stop thinking?” Draco said, not sounding particularly amused.

“God, no,” Harry said, handing over his glass of wine. He smiled, cupping Draco’s cheek and running a thumb over his cheekbone. “We’re both here. I’m not going to pretend I know everything about relationships, but I know a decent amount about you.” He leaned in for a slow kiss. “So I’m going to let you settle in, and you’re going to do whatever the hell you’re comfortable with, and I’m going to point out that you and Pansy have been talking about everything for a decade so I’m going to be a little put out if you stop now if you need her for something.” He stretched out on the couch, summoning the coffee table a little closer. “And we can talk about all the things we ordinarily talk about, or read and enjoy each other’s company in absolute silence, or – I don’t know, find something to do in the very large bed.”

“He’s talking too much,” Lethe informed Draco. “That means you’re being jumpy.”

“You know, this is a very different plan than your daemon proposed, Potter,” Draco said, dryly.

“Oh, god,” Harry said. “What can I say, sordid and volatile.” He smiled. “I’ve no idea what she said, but I can probably make good on it. But if she’s made you nervous for no reason for days, then I’ll have to yell at her.”

“You’re terrible,” Thaxia muttered, from where she’d settled in the blankets. “I said very nice things.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said.

Lethe looked at Harry for a long moment. “Actually, they sounded rather good,” she said. “Or at least, I’m reasonably certain he thought so.”

“ _Both_ of you,” Draco said. “Lethe, really.”

“Really, he’s ours, so you’ll have to trust him at some point,” she pointed out. “This isn’t anything like anything else. You picked him. And he picked you.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said, sounding irritated. Harry realized he’d been standing in the same spot for far too long, and shook his head, getting up off the couch to tug Draco in close.

“It’s really weird,” Harry murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist again. “When you realize that – oh, I don’t know, all the things you’ve been trying to keep in check for years, you’re suddenly _supposed_ to let go of and feel.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, letting out a breath. “And it’s you.”

“Yes,” Harry said, laughing. “It’s awful, actually.”

“I wouldn’t really say _awful_ ,” Draco started.

“No, it really is,” Harry said. “Because when it’s people in bars and that sort of thing, there aren’t any stakes to it, and it isn’t the person you want to wake up next to for the next however long, and it’s not like we’ve gone on three very boring dates and you’re not sure of the rest of it, or I’m not sure of the rest of it.” He smiled. “Price you pay for being the sort of people we are. So we’re not going to be idiots and pretend that you’re not nervous for a bunch of perfectly logical reasons and I’m not nervous either, all right?”

“Pansy’s sort of got you figured,” Draco said, sounding amused.

“I rather think I care more if _you’ve_ got me figured, no offense.”

“No,” Draco said, reaching a hand down for Lethe. “I mean – we talked about it, last night. I thought maybe we shouldn’t, but she said you’d come hit me over the head for not talking to _somebody_.”

“Theoretical ten points to Slytherin,” Harry said, with a smile. “But now I’m curious to know what she said.”

“A lot of very, very inappropriate things,” Draco said, dryly. “And some sensible ones.”

“I’m shocked, really,” Harry said, taking a swallow of wine with a grin. “So basically, everyone’s gone all dirty talk about me to you except me.”

“Basically,” Draco said.

“He did like it, you know,” Thaxia muttered. “And you’ll think he looks good naked, I promise.”

“I had grave concerns,” Harry said. “Really.” He took a step back, tugging Draco with him.

“So, to get this laid out,” he said. “My extremely comprehensive game plan was pretty much to make you feel good.”

“You know,” Draco said, glancing down at Harry’s mouth. “I think that’s actually hotter than anything explicit Pansy managed to come up with. And she was messing with me, so I think I can rather assuredly say she gave it a rather good shot.”

Harry laughed, setting his wine glass on a nightstand and literally flopping back onto the bed. “I hadn’t made any suggestions for things to do in the extremely large bed,” he said. “Getting tipsy and fooling around like teenagers was up there, though.”

Lethe snorted and made a graceful leap onto the bed, stretching out against Harry’s side. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think he’s still in utter disbelief you want to sleep with him and that no one’s pissed off about it, so just start touching me and he’ll move.”

“Sensible daemon,” Harry said, cupping her head in his hands and rubbing his thumbs behind her jaw, and Draco reached out and grabbed the bedpost. “Gorgeous girl.”

“That’s – why’s that different from before?” he managed. 

“In the dungeons?” Harry said. “Less adrenaline, probably. And, well, that it’s regular sex and not all… tangled up.” He laughed. “I’m guessing, honestly. I wasn’t kidding when I said Thaxia won’t let people touch her. Well. Except you, she seems rather fond of you.”

“I am, yes, and if he’d get down here, I could get pet too,” she said, sticking her head up indignantly out of the blankets.

“Yes, and then I’d get very distracted,” Harry said, stroking a hand up Lethe’s side and trying not to laugh when Draco nearly staggered. “So you let me do this, and then you and Lethe can do whatever you’d like.”

“Unfair,” Thaxia said, considering. “Oh, all right.”

“Does she stop talking?” Lethe said, eyes closing slowly with pleasure as Harry rubbed behind her ears. 

“Yes, pretty much immediately, and probably more with you, she likes you,” Harry murmured. “Draco, quit trying to stand up.” 

“I was trying not to drop the bloody wine,” he protested, then managed to send it to the nightstand – though the glass wobbled – and sank down into the bed.

Harry was almost used to touching daemons, by now – he and Ron and Hermione had ignored any rules on the subject for years, and Pansy didn’t seem to mind with Kit, but this was different. He rubbed his hands over Lethe’s fur, burying them in her thick ruff, until she was rolling over on her back, stretching.

“What’s this like for you?” Harry said, a little curious, and she made a soft noise.

“Good,” she said. “Like sleeping in front of a warm fireplace. Different than when Pansy does it, better, but there’s still no sexual component to it.” She laughed. “I think we’ll leave that to you.”

“This does not feel like sleeping in front of a warm fireplace,” Draco managed, and Harry laughed. His head was thrown back, exposing the long line of his throat, and he was breathing hard already.

Harry rubbed slow circles on her belly until Draco looked far, far too distracted to protest, flushed and biting down hard on his lower lip with his hands closed in the sheets, and then he nudged her gently. “You two go,” he said.

“Here,” Lethe said, slinking out of bed and over to the rug in front of the fireplace. Thaxia ran after a moment later, settling between Lethe’s front paws so they could groom one another.

“God, that’s so weird,” Draco managed, laughing softly. “I think it might end up being more intimate than sex.” He opened his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Though it really, _really_ makes me want sex.”

“Thank god you’ve got someone here to arrange that,” Harry teased, tugging off his jumper and rolling until he was on top of Draco.

“Who, Pansy?” Draco said, and Harry leaned to nip his neck, laughing too.

“I guess I get to figure out what you like,” he murmured, happily, shifting to fit his hips up against Draco’s, and Draco blinked slowly.

“If I say that I like actually enjoying this, is that a terrible answer?” he said.

“No,” Harry said, pushing him down into the bed and kissing him. “Though you’re definitely encouraged to figure out some things you like beyond just the fact that I’m a bloke.”

“I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Draco said, shoving him a little, and Harry grinned.

“I know,” he said.

“Thanks,” Draco said, softly. “For… not making it high stakes or anything.”

“It’s not,” Harry said, leaning down for another long kiss before he reached to take a swallow of wine. “We’ve got, I don’t know, years. Decades. Whatever. And I fully intend to have somewhat ludicrous amounts of sex, so it’s not like either of us is even going to remember this in the grand scheme of all the sex we’re going to have in this bed. And downstairs. And on the couch. And wherever else we want.”

Draco rolled his eyes, then nudged him. “How do you do that?” he said. “Make ordinary things sound incredibly hot.”

“I’m very talented,” Harry informed him. “And I’m really turned on and lying on top of you, and you’re really turned on, so that helps.”

“Yeah,” Draco admitted, laughing. “Why on earth did you pick _jeans_?”

“I was going to go to bed and sleep for like a week,” Harry said, dryly. “Then Pansy got a case of wanderlust and you failed to pick the option that involved reading. We could take them off. Or just take everything off.”

“Yeah, that sounds… promising,” Draco said, breath catching.

“And now you’re thinking about it,” Harry said, with another low grin. He leaned in to kiss Draco while he murmured a disrobing charm.

“Completely unfair, Potter,” Draco managed, against his mouth, and Harry just kissed him again, shoving their hips together until he could get Draco’s cock pressed hard against his stomach. There were, he reflected, definitely _other_ things he could do, but Draco was already panting. And he had a sneaking suspicion Draco might be good for more than one round.

Draco thrust up closer with a soft gasp, and Harry wrapped a hand around the back of his neck for leverage so he could roll his hips back against him.

“You know, you’re very attractive,” Harry murmured, up against his jaw, letting Draco set the rhythm. “But that’s not why this is good.”

“Mm?” Draco said, but he shifted so he could make eye contact.

“I notice things,” Harry murmured, stroking a hand up Draco’s side. “Your hands, you care too much about your _greenhouse_ to bother, so they’re rough.” He nipped at Draco’s earlobe. “I want them on me, in me, all over me.

“And,” Harry continued, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss for longer than five seconds, I want to see what happens when I push you hard enough to lose all this carefully cultivated self-control.” 

He kissed his way down Draco’s neck. “You’ve no idea how much I care, how good this is going to be, but I know you, I want this, I want you.” He nuzzled closer. “You’ve spent all this time thinking about it, and I’m going to – fuck, Draco, I’m going to _wreck_ that, I’m going to let you in, beg you to fuck me because I can’t manage being this far apart for another second.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco managed, sounding as exactly as turned on as Harry wanted him to be, and Harry shoved him down hard and kissed him the way he’d been wanting to for far longer than he’d been willing to admit.

He felt Draco come between them a moment later, going tense, but Harry didn’t stop kissing him, wanting to be selfish, though he let it wind out until Draco was breathing hard against his mouth.

“Fuck,” Draco said, finally. He grabbed Harry’s shoulder, using his weight as leverage, and flipped them.

“Indeed,” Harry said, with a satisfied grin, stretching out underneath him.

“I literally do not have words,” Draco said, dryly, but he didn’t sound nervous any more. “Aside from that I think you may be worse than Thaxia, and I’ve clearly opened Pandora’s Box.”

Harry snorted. “I’m actually far worse than Thaxia,” he said. “I just pretend to have self control most of the time.”

“You might have mentioned,” Draco said.

“Where in the hell is the fun in that?” Harry drawled.

“You know, you talk a good game, but then there’s you,” Draco murmured, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. “You didn’t get off.”

“I might not,” Harry said. “Some of us spent all day building a house. And forgot dinner, so a glass of wine is enough to accomplish the whole ‘tipsy’ portion of the equation.”

“You know,” Draco said, sounding startled. “I wouldn’t feel badly. I mean… I wouldn’t feel like I’d fucked anything up.”

“No,” Harry said, fondly, reaching to run his fingers through Draco’s hair. “It’s not the point of this.”

Draco smiled. “Apparently it’s not,” he said. “Though you’re also not getting any less hard.”

“I’m looking at you naked,” Harry said, looking him up and down slowly. “I’m not likely to.”

“Well,” Draco said. Harry watched Draco look him over, something predatory in his gaze.

“Your call,” Draco said, finally, murmuring a cleaning charm. “That was not tipsy teenage making out, Potter.”

“No, it was not, Malfoy,” Harry said, with a grin.

“So,” Draco said, picking up his wine glass and summoning the record bottle. “Let’s not leave any for Pansy.”

“Good man,” Harry said, laughing.

It had been a long time, Harry realized, since he’d truly relaxed like _this_. They polished off the bottle of wine, probably doing more laughing than kissing. Harry was drunk enough to end up on a rambling tangent about magical adaptation in typically ordinary species, and he actually flushed when he realized how Draco was looking at him, satisfied and hungry all at once, and then Harry tugged him down to tip the balance in favor of making out. Draco pulled the blankets up as the fire burned down, and eventually Harry ended up underneath him, losing track of where Draco’s hands were on his body, just wanting him close.

They eventually settled in, trading the occasional kiss. Lethe and Thaxia had fallen asleep in front of the fire, Lethe curled tightly around the smaller daemon. Harry was almost asleep when he heard Draco laugh softly, and opened his eyes to find him lying on his back, looking up at the canopy.

“You have no idea how much research I had to do to figure out how to grow those inside,” Harry murmured, glancing up. “I had no idea why you hadn’t, actually. I wasn’t sure you could.”

“Some sort of self-preservation instinct, I think,” Draco said, warmly, and Harry rolled over himself. He hadn’t expected the vines to do so well so quickly, but it was still the new moon, and apparently they’d started to bloom. There were nowhere near as many flowers as the night before, most staying attached to the vines, but a few were floating in the linen Harry had draped over the bed in lieu of heavy curtains.

“I really could change my cologne, you know,” Harry said, laughing.

“Not that sort of self-preservation,” Draco said. “I could be myself here, but I don’t think I had the faintest idea what that meant until now.”

“You know, I’m not sure I did either,” Harry said, honestly.

“You talk a good game,” Draco remarked.

“I’ve always talked a good game,” Harry said. “But I knew I wasn’t where I needed to be.”

“Self-reflection from a Gryffindor,” Draco murmured. “Who’d have thought.” 

“Not me,” Harry joked.

“You know,” Draco said. “You might have to change your cologne because it’s awful, but not because of these.”

“Oh?” Harry murmured.

“They smell like absolutely nothing,” Draco said, with a smile. 

“Same as the other night for me,” Harry said, smiling back. “More of you, though.”

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by Kit slinking in. “I’m on a recon mission,” he said. “Pansy would like me to inform her whether she should disappear for another few hours.”

“No,” Harry said. “Let us find some pajamas, though.”

“You know, I haven’t the faintest where anything is thanks to certain meddling wizards,” Draco said.

“Really, Draco,” Harry said. “Are you a wizard or not?”

“Yes?” Draco said, looking at him, and Harry snorted.

“Wrong godawful inside joke,” he said, with a smile. “Guess we’ll have to make some of our own. _Accio_ two pairs of Draco’s pajama pants.”

“What, you’re stealing?” Draco said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “I like me in your clothes.”

Draco considered. “I think I like you in my clothes too.”

Harry got dressed, turning the fire back up without waking the daemons, and went over to their liquor cabinet just as Pansy opened the door.

“Hi,” she said, back perfectly straight. Pansy, Harry reflected, was a much better liar than Draco, but even Slytherins had tells. Hermione had always wrapped herself in knowledge, and Pansy, Harry thought, used proficiency as a shield.

“Come the fuck to bed,” he said, yawning. “We want to show you something.”

“My, Potter,” she quipped, but even Draco rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, Kit,” Draco said, gesturing.

Pansy swiped one of Draco’s old sweaters and climbed into the bed, sliding hesitantly against Draco’s side. He opened another bottle of wine, putting a stasis charm on it, and poured Pansy a glass, waiting until she was in bed to pass it over.

“Look up,” Harry said, and Pansy did.

“Huh,” Pansy said, softly. “Are those –“

“Yeah,” Draco said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “My tattoo. It’s probably in bloom, actually.”

“Amazingly enough, I am astonishingly uninterested in finding out, “Harry said, pushing the blankets over so he could press in against Pansy’s side.

“I could go downstairs,” Pansy murmured, turning her wine glass around.

“Or I could go downstairs,” Harry said, dryly. “Or I suppose we could send Draco, he really likes the sharks, he discovered that they luminesce whenever you cast near them.”

“I do,” Draco agreed. “And then I wouldn’t have a damn panther in bed with me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Pansy said, and Harry tugged her wand out of her hair and set it on the nightstand.

“Go to _sleep_ ,” he said, gently.

“Yeah,” she said, finishing off the glass in a few swallows and sliding down, and Harry turned off the torches, leaving just the fire and the dim glow of the flowers. It took a few minutes before Draco’s breathing evened out. Lethe and Thaxia were both deeply under.

“So,” he said. “Earl grey and whiskey, or another glass of wine?”

“I thought we were sleeping,” Pansy said.

“He’s sleeping,” Harry said. “I figure, you talked it out with him, I’ll talk it out with you.” He smiled. “If I start to panic, I guess you’re both on call.”

“I’m not panicking,” Pansy said, derisively, then sighed. “Tea.”

Harry summoned the tea from the kitchens, not bothering to get up; sometimes, it was handy to be able to pour alcohol from across the room.

“I’ve no idea what it is,” she admitted, wrapping her hands around the mug.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, sitting up. “Maybe that your partner of a decade is suddenly seeing someone else, and you don’t know where or if you’ll fit, and given everything, you could probably toss some unresolved family issues on top. I’ve got plenty of those, we could trade stories. Somewhere in the ballpark?”

“Yes,” Pansy said. “No. I don’t know.”

Harry reached to brush her hair away from her face. “I can imagine how I would have felt if Hermione had tried to take Ron from me,” he said, sincerely. “And she was my best friend too, not someone new I barely knew. But I’m not going to take him.” He smiled. “I’ve never done less than three, Pansy. I’m utter rubbish at it. And honestly, I’ve no intention of starting now.”

“I suppose your defective need of three people to balance out relationships is one way of looking at it,” Pansy said, dryly.

“I’ve got this thing,” he said, looking up at the canopy. “My biological family… my parents died trying to protect me, I don’t suppose you can get much better proof of love than that, but then my aunt and uncle locked me in a cupboard for a decade.

“And then I got here, and I’ve got the Weasleys, but there’s a part of me that will never fit there because I don’t get what it was to grow up like that. You know, loved and never doubting it for a minute.”

“God, is that a weird concept,” Pansy said, laughing. “Right? Who has a functional childhood these days.”

“Fuck if I know,” Harry said. “I guess the point is, I had a family, but I had to build my own. Ron and Hermione are my family, the kids are my family.” He laughed, still staring up at the ceiling. “God, I remember – Rose was sort of an accident, something about Hermione getting the flu and puking up a contraceptive potion, and Ron and I wouldn’t believe her for like a week because it’s _Hermione_ , she color codes her work folders and labels everything in the fridge and it was just so absurd. And so she goes to the mediwitch and comes back and literally throws this stack of paperwork at us, and fuck, it felt like my whole world had dropped out from underneath me.” He smiled. “I figured that was when they’d call it, you know?”

“I gather not so much,” Pansy said, laughing. “You’ve got like a billion photos of her, you’re all in all of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, fondly. “I’m not her dad. I’m her uncle. But she’s still family.”

“So if –“ Pansy swallowed. “That worked for almost twenty years, what the fuck are you doing here? You could’ve stayed.”

“I had to go be something else,” Harry said, honestly. “It’s like… when you have this family when you’re a kid, you grow up with them, right? And it’s comfortable, and it’s home, and they know you inside and out. But you reach a point where they know you too well, and you outgrow it. It’s not like you can never go home again, it’s like you start wanting your own home, this place where you can be an adult.” He smiled. “And, ah, I don’t mean that in any sort of relationship or sexual sense. Just… where the only person who knows the brand of t-shirts you like is you. Ron and Hermione both had these idyllic childhoods, their adult family was the one they made. We made. But mine wasn’t.”

“That makes sense,” Pansy said, finally. “In a really strange way.”

“I didn’t promise to be coherent,” Harry said. “So this – here, this is me. And you’re going to drive me batshit insane because you can’t remember what brand of wine I like, and Draco’s going to piss me off because he’ll forget what dates that are important to me, and I’m going to drive you both up a wall and back down again because I’m literally incapable of folding laundry.” He smiled. “And we’re going to fight like cats and dogs, and get to know one another, and love each other, and I’m all in on that. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m not sleeping with you any more than it mattered to Hermione that I wasn’t sleeping with her.” 

“D’you think I’ll outgrow it too?” Pansy said, finally.

“No,” Harry said, honestly. “You and Draco made an adult choice, and this is an adult choice. I mean –“ He smiled. “I get that your childhood home is currently under about thirty feet of water, and that probably feels like hell, to not just be able to walk in, but it’s not like the House has gone anywhere. It’s probably planning diabolical things in Gryffindor tower.”

“It’s people,” Pansy said. “My home is people. Students. And Draco.”

“If you ever need to go grow, you should go grow,” Harry said, honestly. “But I think we all want kids, and I think it makes a difference if they’re yours. If they’re ours, they really _will_ have three parents. So it’s really down to whether you want a long-term romantic or sexual relationship for yourself, because I don’t think either of us can give you that.” He considered. “Depending on your definition of romance. If you want me to love you, I already do. If you want me to be in love with you, and you think there’s a difference, I’m not so sure I could manage. You’d have to ask Draco, but I suspect you’d know his answer already.”

He tilted his head to watch her. “But I get the impression if that was what you wanted, well –“ He smiled. “You’ve seen yourself, you’ve seen your goddamned resume, you could have anyone in the world in one coffee date. And don’t tell me you don’t know, you do.”

“Oh, all right,” Pansy said, laughing. “And it’s my CV, thank you.”

“Point made,” Harry said.

“No,” Pansy said, firmly. “Family. What I wanted – want – is family. Not just because mine was… hard. But I told you, I can be anything I want to be, here. Draco doesn’t care if I publish articles and work all night and go to conferences in France and if I’m excellent. He’ll never try to rein me in. He even seems to like all that. And you don’t get what that is until you can have it and then you think about not being able to again.”

“Pansy,” Harry said, fondly. “I think he loves you because you’re excellent. Not in spite of it. And I do, too. Really.” He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Be everything you want to be, be fierce and smart as hell and thoroughly Slytherin. I’m going to do the same goddamned thing with something I really love. And I think Draco’s doing that already.”

“Oh, all right,” Pansy said, finally, letting out a breath. “Deal me in, too.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said, tugging her down.

“I like him too,” Kit murmured, finally, from the other side of the bed. “I didn’t have to do any of that talking.” 

Pansy laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “That’s what you’re for,” she said.

“No, I’m for being you, outside of you,” Kit said, and leaned so Harry could rub his head. “Someone has to.”

“You know,” Harry said, dryly. “Really, nobody got the hint with the _panther_ that you had some teeth?”

“I did,” Draco said, drowsily. “And you two haven’t shut up for forever.” He wrapped an arm around Pansy next to Harry’s. “You’re an idiot,” he murmured. “I’m going to make Harry put our House motto above the bed.”

“’Loyalty above all else,’” Harry said, firmly, with a smile. “Yeah, that kind of covers it.”

“Agreed,” Draco said. “Pansy?”

“Yes,” she said, firmly, settling in between them. “Yes, it does.”


End file.
